


This Darkness Is The Light

by jadesolo



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe-Crime Solvers, Castle AU, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Multi, Murder Mystery, Mystery, POV Jemma Simmons, POV Leo Fitz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2018-06-10 15:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6962077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadesolo/pseuds/jadesolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After killing off his most beloved character, Leo Fitz has no idea what to write next. But when a series of murders take place that are staged like the ones in his novels, Fitz finds himself working alongside Jemma Simmons, a stern but kind detective...who happens to be the perfect inspiration for his new book series.<br/>She's fact and he's fiction-what could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At long last! The first chapter of the Castle AU! Major thanks to writeonthrough for being an amazing beta and friend! 
> 
> Note: The first few chapters will be based around the (Castle) pilot.

Lights flashed, momentarily blinding Leo Fitz. It was the same as usual: flocks of fans screaming at him excitedly, eyes wild because they were standing in front of their favorite author, pens forcing their way into his hand and books thrust at him to sign. It was impossible to hear anything  but the roaring of the fans and the smell of alcohol was thick in the air.

Suddenly he was pried away from the onslaught but not before he caught sight of a tangle of blonde hair passing him and let out a sigh of relief. At least he was in good hands. A few seconds later, they were standing in front of the bar. His rescuer held up a finger and ordered two shots. The next second, a shot glass was in his hand.

“To no more Ward,” Bobbi Morse stated, raising her glass. She downed it in seconds, Fitz following suit. Despite having over twenty best-selling novels under his belt, he still felt a tingle of nerves at each book party. Tonight was different though: this was the party of the final novel of his best selling series.

Not to mention the small fact that he’d killed off his most beloved character as well.

It wasn’t his fault, not really. He’d done thirteen books detailing the adventures of S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Grant Ward, some more realistic than others. He was bored of the story. Truly bored. Hence his latest book: Fallen Agent. Otherwise known as the book in which Grant Ward was brutally murdered by another agent.

Because why bother having a happy ending?

“No more Ward,” Fitz muttered weakly, sitting his glass down on the counter and slouching down onto one of the stools. Bobbi quirked an eyebrow.

“You sound less than thrilled. Two weeks ago you couldn’t be happier. ‘Brand new turning point’,” she repeated, trying her best at a Scottish accent. Fitz cringed.

“Please don’t ever do that again,” he muttered. She kept staring at him and he groaned, realizing he wasn’t going to get away without an explanation. “I can’t write.” He confessed.

“I thought you told Melinda-”

“I lied,” Fitz whispered, glancing across his shoulder to see Melinda May-his book agent and her husband making the rounds. He turned his attention back to Bobbi. “I feel terrible already but they warned me-”

“Not to kill off Ward, I know, I know. Have you any ideas for a story?”

“None,” Fitz admitted. He groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I want something _new_. Something that hasn’t been done before.”

“There’s nothing new under the sun, Fitz.” Bobbi remarked with a frown. She held up her hand once more and the barkeep sat two more shot glasses down in front of them. “Until then, we drink.”

* * *

The sound of a camera shuttering briefly grabbed Jemma Simmons’s attention, just as the lights of the camera flashed. The room was quiet, detectives and officers spoke in hushed tones. Whether or not it was out of respect or so they didn’t bother the neighbors, Jemma didn’t know.  

The apartment was small, a place suitable for a recently married couple. She glanced over at her two fellow detectives, Alphonso Mackenzie and Lance Hunter. “No sign of forced entry?”

“None,” Mack confirmed, stepping toward her. He motioned towards the two dead bodies on the floor; a man in his late twenties, a woman in her early twenties. “By the looks of things, they were having dinner.”

“Chinese of all things,” Lance remarked bitterly, holding up one of the take-out boxes. Jemma held back a smile at her friend’s sarcasm. She bent down beside the bodies, studying them. The woman had dark hair that fell well past her shoulders, down to her waist. Her eyes, still open, were a faded green.

Jemma turned her attention to the male victim; he had dark hair and piercing blue eyes. His hand was inches from the woman’s….a last chance to comfort her, perhaps?

“Names?”

Mack hesitated, looking down at his notepad, “Scott and Karen Lucas. Newly weds. We’re looking for any living relatives.”

Jemma sighed. A waste, really. They were two people-kids, practically-making their way through the world, fighting against the overwhelming waves life threw at them. To have died so young….

“How did they die?” Jemma inquired. To her surprise, her question wasn’t answered by either Hunter or Mack.

“Can’t tell you. You’re hogging up the victims,” Skye Johnson remarked, stepping into the apartment. She glanced around, frowning slightly at the furnishings. “Not very high-end.”

“Says the woman who spent college living in her van,” Hunter reminded her. Skye gave him one of her deadliest glares, which would have sent even Jemma running for the hills. Hunter made a face and slowly backed away, muttering something about interviews with potential eyewitnesses.

Jemma smirked as Skye stepped up beside her, bending down to inspect the victims. She slipped on a pair of gloves and began to pry around near the victims. A few seconds later, she announced, “I can’t be a hundred percent certain-not until I get back to the lab, but I think it was electrocution.”

“Electrocution?” Mack repeated. “Like the other vic? The firemen?”

“Exactly like,” Skye replied solemnly. Jemma stood up, thinking furiously. The M.O. certainly fit: no sign of forced entry, bodies posed almost as if they were sleeping, rather than having died horribly...electrocution….

“You think it’s the same killer, Tremors?” Mack asked, moving behind Skye. The medical examiner frowned.

“Possibly. Maybe...I’m at least fifty percent sure. Best to wait to get back to the lab, though. Run tests and all that.” she stood up and smirked at Mack. “And to think back in college I was a hacker. Look at me now.”

“Wouldn’t say that too loudly,” Jemma stated, turning around. She looked down at the victims for a moment. Then it clicked. “ _FZZT_ ,” she whispered. Grinning, she looked up-and _up_ -at Mack. “I’ve seen this before.”

“We both have, English. The firemen, remember?” Mack replied, raising an eyebrow. Jemma shook her head.

“No, I’ve seen it before that!”

Mack folded his arms, a confused expression spreading across his face. Behind him, Skye had a similar expression on her face.

“Where?” they asked in unison.

Jemma smirked. “The bodies positioned as if they’re asleep, electrocution, no sign of forced entry-” she stopped, waiting for them to catch on. Their expressions remained blank. She groaned. “Don’t you two _read?_ ”

* * *

“Well it can’t be too bad,” Bobbi said, taking yet another shot. Fitz watched her warily; he’d stopped several drinks ago, but he knew from experience that Bobbi had a high-alcohol tolerance: they could be here all night.

“What can’t?”

“The writing deal,” Bobbi said, holding her shot glass up in the air. “Because we have drinks.”

“Because alcohol makes everything better,” Fitz replied, rolling his eyes.

“It really does,” Bobbi said, giving him a wink as she downed the last shot. She met his eyes. “You look bored.”

“That’s because I am bored.” Fitz admitted, shaking his head. “These parties are just so-”

“Extravagant? Expensive? Haughty?”

“Predictable,” Fitz corrected her. “It’s always the same. Music blaring, people wanting me to sign their books-and, er, _other_ things. The same questions about the book, never the questions a writer actually _wants_ to be asked.”

“So basically, the writer’s life is boring you,” Bobbi stated bluntly, twirling her finger around the ring of her glass. “Interesting.”

Fitz nodded glumly. It was the truth. He was well and truly bored of the life he was leading. Years ago, when he first started out, it had been an adventure. People recognized him on the street thanks to his picture on the back of his bestselling books. Not to mention the thrill of actually being a best-selling author, and the fact that it paid well.

The most exciting thing for him now was his poker parties with other mystery writers because no one ever knew who’d win. Usually it was Patterson, but that was irrelevant to Fitz’s current problem.

He groaned. “I’m tired of hearing the usual ‘will you sign this’ or ‘why did you kill off Kara in the last book-?”

“That was a bloody stupid move, by the way. I thought I knew you better, Fitz.” Bobbi remarked with a shake of her head.

“I only did it because I knew I would be killing Ward off in the next book, that way-”

“They’d be dead together,” Bobbi scoffed. “What a happy ending.”

“Still,” Fitz emphasized, “For once, I would like for someone to say something new to me.”

As if on cue he heard a voice with a British lilt say from behind him, “Mister Fitz?”

He sighed, resigning himself to yet another autograph and turned around with one of his falsest grins. “Yes?”

The woman was maybe an inch or two shorter than him so his eyes trailed down to meet her’s. She had dark hair that was pulled back into a tight pony tail. She held up something in her hand that was most certainly _not_ a copy of _Fallen Agent_.

“Detective Jemma Simmons,” the woman said, as if he couldn’t pick that up from the badge. “I’m here to ask you a few questions about a murder that took place tonight.”

Fitz’s eyes went wide at the accusation _-a murder_ ? _How was he connected with a murder?_ He heard a chuckle from behind him and craned his neck to see Bobbi smirking at him.

“You wanted something new,” she remarked. He scowled at her. Her concern for him was touching. He sighed, turning back to Detective Simmons.

“Lead the way,” he said with a smile. She quirked an eyebrow, but led him to her car. She reached forward and opened the door to the backseat. Fitz hesitated a moment.

“What?” Simmons inquired, sounding a little exasperated by him already. He really didn’t understand why.

“It’s just….isn’t the backseat of cop cars usually reserved for criminals?” Fitz replied. Simmons huffed in annoyance. Fitz made a face somewhere between sheepishness and smugness, “What? I am a best-selling mystery author. I do know a few things about police etiquette.”

“Get in the car before I cuff you, Mister Fitz.” Simmons retorted.

Fitz opened his mouth to say a clever remark, but quickly closed it, thinking the better of it. He nodded and followed the order through, sitting down and sliding across the seat so he was positioned in the middle. The door shut behind him.

A second later, the driver’s side door opened and Simmons sat down, buckled and started the car. A few moments later,, they were breezing down the road. Fitz was momentarily surprised by the lack of traffic, but his attention was mainly taken to the back of Simmons’ head, particularly the lavender scent of her shampoo.

“You’re British,” he stated bluntly.

“You’re Scottish,” she replied.

He considered her retort for a moment and nodded. “Fair enough. But why are you here?”

“To take you in for questioning.”

“I meant here, in America.”

“..I grew up here.”

“Yeah?”

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Yes. My father and I moved here when I was eighteen. Became a legal citizen when I was twenty.”

“Why move to America, though? You could’ve gone to Oxford-”

“I did go to Oxford,” Simmons retorted haughtily. “Left high school at fifteen.”

Fitz's eyes widened. “Fifteen. Not bad.”

“And how old were you?” Simmons asked coolly.

“Fifteen..and a half,” he answered. “Moved here with my mom and adoptive sister so I could go to New York State.”

“Majored in English, I presume.”

“Engineering, actually. You?”

“Biochem,” Simmons answered, her tone lightening. “Got my PhDs when I was seventeen.”

“Impressive,” Fitz remarked, clucking his tongue. He wasn’t being sarcastic; it _was_ impressive. But it didn’t make any sense...for her to jump career tracks like she did. Before his thought could go any further-or he could ask any more intrusive questions-Simmons spoke up again.

“So, who was the girl you were with?”

“What?”

Simmons cleared her throat. “The girl you were with at the party. Who was she?”

“Oh! That was Bobbi. Bobbi Morse, she’s my sister. Well...adoptive sister. Well...sort of. You’d like her. She also majored in biochem.”

“A lot of scientists in your family, hm?”

“Quite. How about you?”

“My father is a college professor. My sister’s a lawyer.”

“You’ve got a sister?”

“Yeah. Niece too.”

Fitz smiled warmly at the idea of this Detective-who seemed quite stern but also kind of sweet-running around chasing her niece. It was a peculiar thought, one that was rather perplexing. There were so many layers to this woman he’d just met. Normally he read people fairly well-a habit one picked up after so many years of writing mystery novels-but there was something maddeningly off about this woman...something he couldn’t pick up on.

“We’re here,” Simmons announced, looking back at him. He suddenly felt a tingle of nerves looking up at the precinct through the window. He turned back to Simmons, biting his lower lip. She gave him a quick smile.

“You won’t have to do a perp-walk, if that helps.”

“Is that a promise?” he inquired, trying to sound cool. His attempt at snark failed as his voice cracked from nerves.

“Promise,” she said, exiting the car and moving around it to open the door for him. He stepped out, breathing in the cool night air and followed her as she led him inside the precinct. It was rather quaint, walls made of brick, floors stained from years of wear and tear. She moved him into a small interrogation room, which resembled the rest of the building almost exactly.

He sank down into a chair and she gave him a quick smile. It was different than the one she’d given him in the car. This one was more of a warning. It said that she was willing to be friendly any time of day, except when she was in this room. He took a deep breath.

“I’ll be back in a few moments, Mister Fitz. Until then, enjoy your water.” She motioned toward the water bottle that was sitting in the center of the table and exited the room. Fitz frowned and stared at the bottle for a moment, debating on whether to down it immediately or not-after all, he wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to use the bathroom.

In the end, he reached forward and grabbed the bottle, tossing it from hand to hand worriedly. Best to keep his hands busy; it was the only thing that could keep him relaxed in a stressful situation.

Then again, he considered, he hadn’t murdered anyone outside of his books, so he really didn’t have anything to worry about. Unless this was some prank pulled by Bobbi. She said she knew a detective in the 12th, maybe it was Simmons.

Shaking his head, Fitz took a deep breath. He twisted open the bottle of water, and took a quick sip. There was no reason to make a full blown conspiracy theory. Not yet, anyway...

Still, the situation begged the question: why _was_ he here? Who had been murdered? What did any of it have to do with him?

And most importantly; who was Jemma Simmons?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma gets to question Leo Fitz and is confused by the startling affect he seems to have on her. Meanwhile, Skye finds some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last! The second chapter. This was suppose to be up over the weekend, but I kept putting it off. Sorry about that. Major thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments on the first chapter! Means a lot! Also major thanks to Nikki (fitzsimmmonns on Tumblr) for beta-ing!
> 
> Note: there is a brief mention of abuse in this chapter.

When Jemma left the interview room, she walked back to the bullpen where Mack and Lance were sitting at their desks. Well, Mack was sitting. Lance had propped his legs atop of his desk, eyes shut. 

“Did either of you get the file on Mister Fitz?”

Lance looked up at Jemma as she walked past. “Yeah, we did. Mister Murder Mystery barely has anything on his plate, aside from a speeding ticket two years ago. Beyond that, nothing.”

“Besides killing over a dozen people in his books,” Mack piped in. Jemma rolled her eyes. 

“Aren’t you two supposed to be working, not bickering?” she inquired, taking a file from Mack and pouring through it. Indeed, Leopold Fitz did not have much of a rap sheet. She frowned and looked down to meet Mack’s concerned gaze. “What?” she asked, closing the file, dropping it to her side.

“You have the face on,” Mack stated. “The ‘there’s something more to this case than we think’ face.”

“I don’t have a face like that,” Jemma protested. She heard a snort from behind and turned to Lance. He held his hands up in surrender. 

“Sorry but I’m with Alfie on this one-and you do have that face on.”

Mack glared at him. “Call me Alfie one more time, Hunter. I dare you.”

Lance smirked at his friend, giving him a cheerful wave. Jemma groaned and headed back to the interview room. “Try not to kill each other while I interview Mister Fitz, will you?” 

And with that she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Fitz was in the same position he had been in when she left. The water bottle had moved, though.

Hearing the door open, Fitz looked up. Jemma opened the file in her hand; it  _ was _ a small file, but it did have a few crucial details on Fitz. She looked down at him, “You have an awfully small rap sheet for a celebrity, Mister Fitz.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Some of us keep out of trouble. Most of the time, anyway. Wait, I actually have a rap sheet?” He added, curiosity blooming across his features. Jemma held back a smile at his enthusiasm. 

“Just a speeding ticket,” she said, sitting down in the seat opposite of him. Fitz’s face fell.

“Two years ago, right?” He shook his head. “That was an embarassing night. Being pulled over while you’re in a tux with a bag of burritos next you.”

“Burritos?”

“The gala I was attending that night had very small portions,” he replied, shuddering slightly at the memory. “I’m pretty sure my stomach growled loud enough during the Mayor’s speech that everyone heard it.”

“Mister Fitz,” Jemma said, trying to hold back yet another smile (why was he having such an affect on her?), “There’s a murder case to be solved.”

“Right,” Fitz said, nodding. He paused. “Yeah, about that...why exactly am I here?”

Jemma pulled out a photo from the file and sat it down in front of him. “Adam Cross, fireman and scout leader. He was found dead in his apartment last week. Electrocution. Did you know him?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Fitz said, picking up the photo. The man was probably in his early forties, clean shaven and bright blue eyes. Fitz shook his head, sitting the photo back down. “He might’ve been at one of my book signings. But I didn’t know him personally.”

Jemma nodded and sat down a second photo. This one wasn’t just a headshot of Adam Cross; it was a photograph of his body. He was positioned as if he were asleep, but Fitz could see a few tell-tale signs of rigor mortis. He looked up at Jemma. “ _ FZZT? _ ” his voice was faint.

She nodded, grabbing another photo and sitting it down. This time it was of the two most recent victims. They were smiling at the camera, clinging to each other. The photo had been taken on their honeymoon. “Scott and Karen Lucas. Recently married. She was a social worker, he worked in a diner. They were found dead in their apartment-”

“Positioned as if they were asleep.” Fitz finished automatically, his voice monotone. “Dead from electrocution.” 

Jemma hesitated, recognizing his words as a line from the novel in question that the murders were based on. Finally, she answered. “Yes.” She placed the final photo from the crime scene on the table. Fitz stared at it for a moment, his expression hardening.

He looked up at her, his blue eyes steely. “Who did this?”

“We’re trying to figure that out. And I hate to ask you this but, where were you on the nights of the murders?”

Fitz sighed, looking away from the offending photo. He took a deep shaky breath and asked quietly, “When did Adam Cross die?”

“Last Tuesday.”

Fitz nodded, “I was ah…..” he screwed his eyes up, trying to recall. He clicked his fingers together. “I was out with Bobbi and my mum. Went out for celebratory drinks. My mom got cast in a new play.” A proud smile appeared briefly on his lips but it faded quickly.

“Scott and Karen Lucas were murdered tonight, but since you’ve been at your book party, you already have an alibi for that.”

“Do you have any leads?” Fitz asked, meeting her eyes. 

She shook her head. “Not yet. We were hoping you could help, since it’s based on your books. Are any of your fans...obsessive?”

Fitz made a face that said ‘you’re-joking-right?’. “Most of them,” he admitted. 

“Well do you get any..odd fanmail?”

“All my fanmail is odd. Well, except for the ones that could be mellowed down to death threats for killing off Kara.”

Jemma raised an eyebrow. 

“Okay, I was taking some liberties there but-” he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “They’re very cross at me for it.”

This time she did smile. She leaned forward and replied in an equally hushed tone, “I was very cross too.”

Fitz’s eyes lit up and he leaned back. “You’ll understand why once you read _ Fallen Agent _ .”

Jemma’s eyes went wide. “Tell me the rumors aren’t true-”

“I’m staying mum on the subject, Detective Simmons.”

Before she could say anything in return, the door to the interrogation room opened. Jemma turned in her seat to see Mack standing in the doorway.

He glanced briefly at Fitz, before returning his attention to Jemma. “Skye’s got something for you.”

Jemma nodded. That was good. Maybe they’d finally have a cause of death and not just guesswork. She turned back to Fitz. “You’re welcome to leave now, Mister Fitz. I got all I needed.”

Fitz looked as if he wanted to protest, but ultimately remained quiet. She started out the room before she remembered something. “Oh, can we get a look at your fanmail, just in case-”

“The killer contacted the source of his or her obsession,” Fitz finished automatically. “Yeah, you can.”

“Thank you,” Jemma said earnestly. 

“Happy to help.”

With that, the door shut, only giving her one last glimpse at Fitz, whose expression had darkened once more.

* * *

A quick elevator ride later and Jemma arrived at the morgue. Skye was positioned in a swivel chair, spinning around as she attempted to toss popcorn in her mouth. Music blared from her laptop speakers; Jemma recognized the tune as _ Uptown Funk. _

Jemma scrunched up her nose as she approached her friend. “Have you no respect for the dead?”

Skye let out a small shriek, throwing popcorn everywhere. She held her hand to her chest, above her heart. “God, Simmons. Give a warning.”

“You called  _ me _ , remember?”

“Yes I did, but I can’t help it that you move around as quiet as a goddamn mouse,” Skye said, looking down mournfully at the now popcorn covered floor. “And I had just found the right ratio between the butter and the salt, too.”

“I’m sorry I ruined your fun.” Jemma said, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, sure,” Skye retorted, sitting the now empty bucket of popcorn down on her desk. With a quick swipe of the mouse, the music ceased too.

“Thank goodness,” Jemma mused, delighted by the sudden silence. “I hate that song.”

“You love it,” Skye smirked. “Just because it gets into your head-”

“Because  _ you  _ constantly play it-” Jemma reminded her.

“Doesn’t mean it’s a bad song. Come on,  _ Bohemian Rhapsody  _ gets stuck in your head. That is a good song.”

Jemma glared at her friend. “You are not seriously comparing a classic like _Bohemian Rhapsody_ to-” she shuddered, “- _Uptown Funk_ , are you?”

“Yeah, I am.” Skye said with a mischievous glint. “But, I didn’t call you down here to get the down-low on music choices.”

“No?”

“Nah. If I wanted that, I would’ve called Trip.” 

Jemma smiled at the sound of her friend’s name. Jemma had recently introduced Skye to him and, well, they seemed to have hit it off. 

Clearing her throat, Jemma managed to put on a serious face. “So why did you call me?”

“Because,” Skye said, walking over to the two twin autopsy tables sat. On one was Karen Lucas, the other, her husband, Scott. Skye motioned at the man and woman. “They were definitely electrocuted.” 

“Same as the firemen?”

“Exactly the same. Different areas for the wounds though. Also, Mister Lucas here,” Skye moved over toward the man’s body. She held up his arm, revealing a nasty bruise. “Tried to defend himself.”

“And Karen?”

“Also some defensive marks.” Skye said, moving back to Karen and holding up her arm, showing off a bruise. “Recent, too.”

“Is it possible-”

“Wasn’t abuse,” Skye said, shaking her head. “No signs of bruising on Scott’s knuckles.” 

“So they both tried to defend themselves.”

“Yeah,” Skye replied. “These kids were total badasses.” 

“Any DNA from the killer?” Jemma asked, returning her attention to Skye. The M.E frowned.

“Haven’t found it if there is,” Skye said, stepping away from the bodies. She squatted down on the floor, starting to pick up the popcorn. Wordlessly, Jemma stepped toward the closet and pulled out a broom and shooed Skye away, sweeping the popcorn up and tossing the remains in the trashcan.

“But onto more pressing matters,” Skye smirked, moving to her desk and grabbing her soda. “How did meeting your favorite author go?”

Face coloring, Jemma stammered, “W-what?”

Skye rolled her eyes and dropped her voice into a low whisper, as if sharing some scandalous secret, “Leopold Fitz. The guy who writes almost every book you own.”

“Oh,” Jemma said, clearing her throat. “It was hardly a meeting, Skye. It was an interview.” 

“Uh-huh,” Skye said, taking a sip of her drink. “Is he hot?”

“Skye!” Jemma cried, blushing furiously and she glanced around the room as if expecting Lance or Mack to appear. Or worse: Fitz.

“What? It’s a simple question. You’ve certainly fangirled over him enough-”

“I do  _ not _ fangirl over him,” Jemma protested. “I like his novels. That's it. How aesthetically pleasing his face is doesn't matter.”

“Suuuuure it doesn't,” Skye gave Jemma a knowing wink, but quickly sobered up. “But seriously, does he realize how big a fan you are?”

Jemma opened her mouth to say no, then considered her and Fitz’s conversation about  _ Fallen Agent. _ She sighed, “Maybe a little. He knows I’ve read his books, anyway.”

“Hmm,” Skye nodded. “Okay then. Did he recognize you from that time you went to the book signing for….ah damn, which book was it?”

“ _ Eye Spy, _ ” Jemma answered automatically. It had been her favorite of the series; all the mystery and intrigue. Plus it had been the book that had introduced Kara Palamas, who had quickly become her favorite character. 

“Yeah,  _ Eye Spy. _ ” Skye frowned. “Come to think of it, that’s the only book I’ve read of his. I may have to borrow some of your collection.”

“What happened to ‘I’m surrounded by death every day, why do I want to go home and read more of it’?”

“Gotta be supportive of my best friend’s favorite author,” Skye retorted.

“Sure,” Jemma said just as her phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her pocket to see a text from Lance.

_ Contacted Karen’s mother-heading in for an interview. Coming? _

Jemma quickly responded;

_ Be there ASAP. _

She looked up at Skye. “Karen’s mother is coming in for an interview.”

Skye immediately went serious. “Alright. Good luck, English.”

Jemma nodded, “Sure thing, Tremors.” She headed back toward the elevator, preparing herself for the interview. Just before the elevator doors closed, she heard Skye call out.

“Hey, you never answered! Did he recognize you?”

The doors closed before Jemma could answer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz goes home to get some words of wisdom from his mother, and is faced with the decision to either go on with his life, or try to solve the mystery. Meanwhile, Jemma and Lance interview Karen Lucas's mother, which stirs up old memories for Jemma....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a major thanks to everyone who's left kudos and comments and have sent me the kindest messages about this fic! It truly means a lot. And, of course, a huge round of thanks to my best friend, Nikki (you may know her as fitzsimmmonns over on Tumblr), for beta-ing this chapter!

Fitz made it back to his loft in quick time. An officer named Joey had already procured a cab for Fitz and had even walked him outside. As Fitz thanked him and stepped into the cab-the second vehicle a cop had put him in that night-Joey had given a warm smile and walked away with a twinkle in his eye.

The cabbie managed to get to the loft building in record time and although Fitz didn’t appreciate the cabbie’s driving (or all the sharp turns), he had over tipped before making his way up the stairs to his home. It had been one of his most expensive buys and he originally felt as if it was a waste. It was far too big and far too empty for one man-especially for a man who never brought anyone home with him.

He considered all the tabloid rumors about him; every week they claimed he was seeing another model, then within a few days he had apparently broken up with her (or him, a couple of times). If only they knew the truth.

Fitz almost chuckled at that as he opened his front door. The entirety of the loft smelled like flowers, some odd combination that Bobbi and his mother liked. The floors were squeaky clean-which he was proud to note, as he had spent at least an hour mopping it that morning. 

But the most important thing he noticed was the woman with graying hair sitting in an armchair, a script in her hands. Round glasses had fallen part-way down her nose, her green eyes sparkling. She looked small and sweet, probably the woman who would whip you up the most delicious pie in the world and smile as she handed it to you. But Fitz knew from experience that underneath her smiles and kindness, there was a fire that one could not extinguish from Mairi Fitz.

At the sound of the door closing, Mairi looked up, noted her son’s expression, and frowned. “Uh-oh, you’ve got the same face you had on when I told you we couldn’t get a monkey when you were ten. What happened?”

Fitz let out an exhausted sigh and walked over toward the couch and laid down on it, laying on his side so he could still look at his mom. “I paid a visit to the police precinct.” 

Immediately, the script was tossed aside. “Barb told me that, but she didn’t give details.”

At the sound of his adoptive sister’s name, Fitz perked up. “Bobbi made it back?”

“Oh yes, about an hour ago. Said you gave her cab money….she didn’t use it of course, it’s sitting on the counter.” 

Fitz sighed. Bobbi was sometimes so stubborn, it was hard to believe they weren’t related by blood. He had known Bobbi all of his life; her mother, Alice, had been best friends with Mairi and their bond had persisted over the years. Alice had then married Robert Morse, and a few years later, Bobbi was born and Mairi had been elected godmother. When Alice and Robert were killed in a car accident, Mairi had taken the girl in and raised her like her own daughter. 

And despite however much Bobbi may have irritated him over the years, Fitz was proud to have a sister like her.

“You never answered my question,” Mairi said, snapping him out of his thoughts and back into the present. “What happened?”

Quickly, Fitz had explained what happened, perhaps lingering a bit too much on the details of Simmons, whom he had accidentally called “the pretty detective lady” at least once in his retelling. If Mairi had noticed, she made no comment of it.

Halfway through the story, Mairi got up and marched to the kitchen, Fitz trailing behind her, and she poured them both a glass of water. When he was done with his story, Mairi frowned deeply, her finger trailing around the ring of the glass. “Do they have any idea who the killer is?”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Fitz admitted. “Or at least they don’t right now.” He took a sip of the water before continuing, “Cases are always changing, always moving. They never really stop.”

“You want to solve it.” 

“What?” Fitz looked up, meeting his mother’s worried but supportive stare. The idea of him solving a mystery was preposterous. Just because you wrote them didn’t mean you could solve them out in the real world.

Right?

“You want to solve the case, but you don’t think you can solve it.” Mairi continued, as if picking up on his thoughts. “But you can. I know you can.”

“How?”

“Because I’m your mum, that’s how.” Mairi replied, grinning. “And it is my duty as your mother to say that I’m here for you one hundred percent, with whatever you decide to do.”

“You disagreed when I said I wanted to be an astronaut.”

Mairi rolled her eyes, “Let me rephrase that, any decision you make that is Earth bound.” 

“Ahhh,” Fitz said, smiling as he took another sip of his drink. Then both he and Mairi both burst out laughing.

They downed both of their drinks after their laughter faded. Fitz let out a small yawn, which Mairi happened to notice. Before Fitz could even open his mouth to protest, she ordered him to bed. A few minutes later, he had finally got out of his suit (which he wasn’t a fan of), taken a shower, and pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and a crisp white tee shirt. 

He fumbled around his room for a while until he found a hoodie. After that, he crept into the hallway, making his way silently down toward Bobbi’s room.

He knocked thrice on the door and a quick and slightly grumpy sounding “come in” came back to him. He stepped into the room to find his adoptive sister sprawled out on her bed, already in a pair of baby blue pajamas. She quirked an eyebrow as she caught sight of him.

“How was your night in the slammer? Did you try and tunnel your way out with a spoon?”

“They didn’t give me a spoon.” Fitz replied, plopping down in one of the chairs. Her room was warm and cozy, rather small compared to the others in the loft, but she seemed to enjoy it. “All they gave me was a water bottle.”

“Well, you probably could’ve figured out how to use it to escape. You’re like a Scottish MacGyver.” 

“I am _ not _ like a Scottish MacGyver.” Fitz retorted with a shake of his head, trying to hold back a laugh.

“Hm, true. Not nearly as handsome,” Bobbi replied with a sigh. That earned her a quick whack with a pillow. She laughed, sitting up straight. “But seriously, what’s with the murder thing?”

Fitz gave her a quick rundown of what Detective Simmons had told him- mostly leaving out the part that he found her to be rather pretty and interesting and smart and-

Bobbi was smirking.

“What?” Fitz cried, wondering if she had developed a psychic link with him or something. 

“Nothing,” she said, ducking her head. “Nothing at all,” she cleared her throat and looked back up at him. “Did you by chance run into any other detectives?”

“Two were sitting at their desks when she walked me to the interview room. Also Joey, the officer that sent me home.”

“Oh,” Bobbi said, disappointment tinging her voice. 

Fitz raised an eyebrow. “Why? Was there someone you wanted me to meet at the precinct?”

“No!” Bobbi said, eyes widening in alarm. “Not at all.” 

“Uh-huh,” Fitz said, not buying it for a minute. However he was simply too exhausted to be curious about his sister’s personal life. He frowned, thinking back to the photos of the victims and wondered about what their loved ones were going through. 

Then he thought about how it was his books that had caused-or at least been part of the equation-these unspeakable acts.

His heart constricted as he thought about the three victims thus far. How they had had their whole lives ahead of them, bright lights in a sea of darkness. And how one person had ended their future, all of their infinite potential, in one horrifying moment.

He clenched his fist at the thought of it. Sure, the police could handle it on their own. But Mairi was right: Fitz wanted answers, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to wait to read them in a newspaper.

“Fitz, you okay?” Bobbi asked, frowning in concern. He looked up at her, coming out of his thought process.

“Huh-what?” 

“You went quiet there for a minute,” she said. “And you were making a face.”

Fitz cleared his throat. “I can imagine. Is there anything about the murders online?”

“No, not that I’ve seen. Well, Adam Cross, yeah. The two newly weds haven’t made  _ E!Online  _ yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Fitz scoffed, “The most they would make would be the local news.” He paused, thinking hard. He turned to Bobbi with an apologetic grin. “How much do you love me?”

“I have a feeling that for whatever it is, not enough.” Bobbi replied dryly. 

Fitz rolled his eyes, “Ha ha ha. I just need to borrow your computer for a moment.”

“What for?”

“Karen Lucas’s parents’ address?” He offered innocently. 

Bobbi stared at him for a long moment, expressionless, sighed and pulled up the internet browser on her computer. “If you get arrested, don’t expect  _ me  _ to bail you out.”

“Love you, sis.”

“Uh-huh.”

* * *

 

Jemma stepped out of the elevator, breathing in the crisp air of the main floor of the precinct. Immediately, Lance was at her side. “The boss came out to greet her,” he said, voice dropped low into a whisper. “Now she’s in the interview room.”

Jemma glanced up at the stairwell that led to the captain’s office. Phil Coulson was one of the most dedicated people Jemma had ever met, rather it be toward the job or to his wife, Melinda May, who had become a book agent when she retired from law enforcement. No one really knew why May had retired, but there had been plenty of rumors. Out of respect for the woman, who Jemma had great respect for, Jemma usually turned a blind eye on them.

“How was she?” 

“Distraught,” Lance admitted, expression surprisingly soft. “Can’t blame the poor woman. She just lost her daughter.”

“Indeed,” Jemma agreed. “So you need to-”

“Be on my best behavior?”

Jemma gave an apologetic look. “I can’t interview her and babysit you, you know.”

“Yes, Mum.” He replied, giving her a mock salute. She rolled her eyes as she opened the interview door. Karen’s mother-Lucy Stone-sat in one of the chairs, staring expressionlessly at the wall across from her.

Sharing a silent glance with Lance, Jemma stepped inside. “Ms. Stone?” 

The woman didn’t look over at them, just continued to stare.

Jemma cleared her throat and sat down across from the woman. “I’m Detective Simmons. I-” Jemma sighed. This part was never easy. Asking the questions no one wanted to ask or wanted to hear. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

This made Lucy look up at them. Her eyes were glazed over and she was awfully pale; she almost looked like a walking corpse. Her voice cracking, she whispered, “Sorry?”

Jemma looked over at Lance, who was glancing back and forth between the two women, shoulders tense. He was expecting things to escalate, like they sometimes did. But Lucy Stone was a respected business woman, one of the wealthiest people in New York. Jemma highly doubted that she of all people would go into a blind rage. 

Lucy sniffed, lifting her head. “My daughter has just died and her killer still walks the streets. There’s nothing to be  _ sorry _ about, unless you fail to apprehend the bastard that did this.”

“I promise you, Lucy. I’m going to do everything in my power to stop them and get justice for your daughter and son-in-law.” 

Lucy locked eyes with Jemma, before giving a quick nod. “I’ll hold you to that, young lady.”

Jemma gave a small smile. “I don’t doubt it. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Lucy straightened in her seat. “Ask whatever you please. I will do anything to help.”

Lance relaxed and leaned against the glass window. “Did your daughter have any enemies?”

Lucy frowned and thought long and hard. “Not to my knowledge. She was a social worker, you know. All she ever wanted to do was help people. It was her passion. Of course, if she ever had any trouble with anyone, she never told me. She liked to handle things on her own when she could. And when she couldn’t, she always had Scott.” 

Lucy’s expression softened slightly at the memory, but then her eyes began to sparkle. Lance swore under his breath and left the room, only to return a moment later with a wad of tissues. He handed it to Lucy, who took it gratefully. 

Wiping the tears away, Lucy sniffed and met Jemma’s unwavering gaze. “Continue.”

Jemma nodded and clasped her hands together, if anything so she had something to focus on. She cleared her throat, “Were there any new people in her life? People you didn’t trust?”

Lucy started to shake her head, then stopped. “Hang on...there was this kid at a diner she and Scott would go to. He was having trouble and they wanted to help, so Karen was going to do her best….I never met him, but I just had a feeling, you know? Mother’s intuition.” 

Jemma sucked in a breath.  _ Mother’s intuition. _

* * *

The rest of the interview went by in mostly a blur. Within minutes, Lucy Stone had left the precinct. Just as Jemma started to walk back to her desk, Lance appeared at her side.

“You need to go home.”

“Why?” 

“Because it’s after midnight, of all things. You’ve gone through the wringer….and don’t think I didn’t notice your expression during that interview.”

Jemma froze, stopping her tracks. Bracing herself, she turned to face her friend. “What do you mean?”

Lance sighed, looking up at the ceiling before returning his attention to her. “Look, Jemma, I’m your friend. I suck at it-quite a bit, actually-and I’m a complete arse sometimes, but at the end of the day, I am still just that. Your friend. And I know when something is wrong, especially when it’s about... _ that. _ So go home, get some rest. Mack and I’ve got this.”

“It’s unprofessional,” Jemma protested weakly.

“So’s falling asleep on the job,” Lance replied, steering her to her desk to get her things. “Go. Get some sleep. Because we’re going out for breakfast tomorrow.”

“We are?” Mack asked, looking up from his computer.

“Yes we are. At a diner,” Lance answered, giving Jemma a small wink. She gave him a grateful smile and bid them both goodnight before making her way downstairs to her car.

Maybe a good night sleep would do her some good. 

Maybe…

 

* * *

 

_ The car was filled with laughter, but there was a heavy tension in the air. Jemma Simmons couldn’t really bring herself to celebrate, not really. Sure, they were moving to the States in no time, but she was going to miss England, quite a lot. _

_ Claire Simmons turned to her sister, rolling her eyes. “Dad’s jokes are the absolute worst.” _

_ Jim, having overheard that, shook his head vehemently. “They’re brilliant. I’ve got more puns, if you’d like to hear them.” _

_ “We wouldn’t!” Claire and Jemma rang out together, then shared a glance and giggled. Jim grinned from the front seat. _

_ They turned down the road that would bring them home, or at least their home for now. But immediately, Jim slowed, catching sight of an unfamiliar car in the drive.  _

_ He pulled up at the curb and stepped out, his two daughters following closely behind. _

_ There was a man standing in front of the jet black car. He was thin, wearing a dark gray suit. He bore the face of someone who could look quite young, yet far beyond his years as well. Catching sight of the family, he stepped toward them. “I’m Detective Inspector Edwin Jarvis. I’m afraid I have some rather unfortunate news for you….” _


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma decides to pay a visit to the diner that Karen and Scott Lucas visited regularly, and ends up reuniting with Leo Fitz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up almost a week late without Starbucks* 
> 
> Ahem, as always, the usual round of applause: to Nikki (fitzsimmmonns on Tumblr) for beta-ing and being the best best friend a girl could have; to everyone who has read, commented on, or left kudos for this fic. You are all amazing and I hope you enjoy this chapter! And of course, this AU's second cameo! ;)

_ People weren’t suppose to die so young, or at least that’s what Jemma Simmons thought. You died when you were in your eighties, you died peacefully, without pain. That was how the universe was  _ suppose _ to work. _

_ You didn’t die when you still had your whole life mapped out in front of you: you didn’t die when you had something left behind.  _

_ All the way to the station, Jemma had remained in a state of shock. Detective Inspector Jarvis was a kind enough man, but no matter how many times he stated his condolences, it would not bring back her mother. _

_ What good did saying “it’s going to be better one day” do? Did the pain of losing someone ever truly go away? Wasn’t it always there, a constant companion, a constant ache in your heart that nothing could repair? _

_ It was an ache, it was coldness and it was emptiness and it was just  _ there _.  _

_ There was no science behind it. There was, technically. There was science in emotions, but Jemma couldn’t put words to it. Not now.  _

_ Her mind turned to one of her favorite pieces of science; the first law of thermodynamics. No energy in the universe could be created, nor destroyed. It just kept going. Which meant everything in the universe use to be something else. A stormcloud, a supernova.  _

_ She loved that idea; no matter what one believed in, it was nice to think that you were created with a little something extra. _

_ But now, she wondered what her mother was. Was she a star, as Jemma had always seen her? Or was she a supernova? Burning bright among the darkness, as Johanna Simmons had always done. _

_ “Miss Simmons?” _

_ Jemma looked up to see the face of a young woman staring down at her. She wore a smart suit and high heels. Her pale face was framed by dark locks that fell down to her shoulders.  _

_ “Y-yes?” Jemma managed, inwardly wincing at the crack in her voice. _

_ “Might I sit next to you?” The woman asked. Jemma considered the question for a moment, then nodded.  _

_ The woman sat down beside Jemma and spoke, “Nothing I can say with take away the pain, Jemma. Nothing does, no one does. And you’re a clever girl, you know that already. But I’m going to tell you this: it’s okay to not be...okay. Because one day you’re going to wake up and realize that that maybe things can be okay again.” _

_ Jemma locked eyes with the woman, taking the words in. Finally, she spoke up. “Who did you lose?” _

_ The woman gave a sad smile and looked down. “My date.” She looked back up at Jemma. “And no matter what happens, I think that pain will always be there.” _

_ “A constant companion,” Jemma whispered, thinking back to her previous thoughts. _

_ The woman hummed, “Quite possibly. But I think so long as we remember the ones we lost….remember the way they smiled, their words of wisdom….well, maybe there’ll always be a part of them with us. In spirit.” _

_ Jemma fought back tears, biting her bottom lip to stop a sob from escaping. The woman sighed and placed her hand on Jemma’s shoulder. _

_ “You don’t have to hide it from me.” _

_ So Jemma didn’t. She cried, she sobbed until her throat ached with pain. She cried and cried and didn’t stop. She wanted to believe the woman, she did. But she just couldn’t see how things could ever possibly be okay again in a world without Johanna Simmons in it. _

* * *

Her eyes open far before the alarm ever goes off, as she normally did after a restless night’s sleep. Jemma groaned, taking in the bright red letters of the alarm clock. Five forty five, the same time she woke up every morning.

Throwing the duvet off her legs, she slid out of bed and stretched. The room was cast in shadows, leaving the most mundane things looking malicious. 

But Jemma Simmons wasn’t afraid of the dark.

She smiled to herself and moved over to her laptop, pressing play on her morning playlist.

Methodically, she went through her usual morning schedule: hop on the treadmill, shower, get dressed, drink a cup of tea. She debated making pancakes for a few moments before remembering Lance’s comment about going to the diner that morning. 

_ That’s not too bad an idea, _ Jemma thought and in the next few minutes, she had abandoned her apartment and drove down to the aforementioned diner. Stepping inside, she took a deep breath, appreciating the absolute divine smell of the food.

Slowly, she made her way to the counter, sat down and talked cheerfully to the waitress for a moment before skimming through the menu. A bell chimed softly in the distance as the door opened once more, but Jemma bore no attention to the newcomer until she heard him speak to the waitress.

“‘Morning, dear what would you like?” the waitress, Lorelai, asked, a genuine smile on her face.

“Um….just a coffee, I think.” Said a familiar and overwhelmingly Scottish voice. Jemma stilled in her seat, spared a glance beside her just as Leo Fitz sat down on the stool beside her.

She could pretend that this was a coincidence, but she wasn’t one to shrug off coincidences. She was endlessly inquisitive and that curiosity certainly didn’t end at bestselling mystery authors. She sat her menu down flat on the counter, twisted in her seat so she was facing Fitz, and gave a wide smile. “Fancy meeting you here, Mister Fitz.”

The author froze in his seat for a moment before slowing turning to her, making a face somewhere between an innocent smile and a grimace. “Hello?” he said uncertainly. 

Jemma gave a wide smile, checking to see if anyone was paying attention to them, and then scooted as close as she could to him without falling off her chair. “What are you doing here?” 

“Heard the food was to die for,” Fitz answered automatically, then, realizing his words, groaned at himself. “I didn’t mean it like that-oh, hell-”

“Stop.” Jemma said, biting her lip as to not laugh at his usual charming and dorky self, “Just stop. Why are you really here?”

He spared a nervous glance around the diner and whispered, “Which answer won’t get me arrested?” 

“I don’t know because I don’t know your answers,” Jemma replied in an equally low voice.

He gave a sheepish grin. “I might have, ah...talked to Karen’s mum last night.”

Jemma’s eyes went wide. “It was midnight when she went home-”

“Simmons, if you’re implying-” he shook his head, “Not going to go there. I didn’t drop by unexpectedly-or expectedly, for that matter. I face-timed her.”

“You face-timed….the mother...of one of the murder victims?” Jemma repeated, blinking slowly. Honestly, she didn’t have enough tea in her for this.

“Kind of?” Fitz put in, biting his bottom lip. He groaned. “Yes.”

Jemma placed her head in her hands and took a few calming breaths. She didn’t do well when things tampered with her well constructed plans. She met Fitz’s gaze and kept it. “Why are you here, though? Why contact Lucy-”

“Because I need to know,” Fitz replied in a hushed tone, accent thick. “I need to know the story behind these senseless acts. I need to know...why.”

The words felt like a sucker punch. Needing to know  _ why  _ was the reason she was sitting in this diner. Why she was a detective. Hell, the need to know  _ why  _ had always driven her, far before Johanna Simmons’s murder.

Logical or not, her decision was made. If Fitz wanted to help, then he would. But she was going to make damn sure he wasn’t going to get himself killed.

“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “You can help.” She paused. “So what did you find out?”

“Well apart from the fact that she hates my books,” Fitz made a face before continuing, “I found out that she had already spoken to the police. After that? She told me to piss off. Actually, she used a different word, but it’s not one I’m keen to repeat in public.”

“You still swore,” Jemma reminded him. “And it still doesn’t explain how you knew to come here.”

Fitz gave a shrug, “Karen  _ did  _ have an Instagram. She and Scott visited here regularly, figured it was worth a shot asking around. You?”

“Lucy told me that Karen was trying to help a kid that worked here. Figured it was worth a shot visiting,” Jemma replied with a smile. 

Fitz nodded and his glance fell on something behind her. Curious about his sudden intense stare, she twisted in her seat to see one of the waitresses sniffling in the corner.

“Maybe she knows something,” Fitz said, but Jemma was already on her feet. Fitz grumbled before trailing after her.

“Excuse me,” Jemma said to the waitress. The woman looked up with red eyes; her dark hair framing her round face. She was around the same height as Jemma, but somehow seemed smaller. 

She sniffled again, “Y-yes?”

“Did you know Karen Lucas?”

As the waitress went into yet another sobbing fit, Fitz’s eyes went wide and he stared at Jemma as if he expected her to fix the situation. She sighed. Mystery writer or not, he hadn’t the foggiest of how to deal with people.

“Let’s head outside,” Jemma suggested, giving Fitz a look. The waitress sniffled and allowed herself to be lead outside by Jemma and Fitz.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the waitress let out another sob. Fitz stepped forward, tentatively placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Jemma took a deep breath and let it out as she turned to face the waitress. Her gaze trailed down to the woman’s name tag before speaking. “Billie, is it?”

The girl glanced up, sniffling. “Sorry ma’am,” she whispered, rubbing snot from her nose. “I just...Karen and Scott were good people, you know? They didn’t deserve what they got.”

“I understand,” Jemma replied kindly. “And I’m sorry to ask since this is a bad subject, but do you know of anyone who would want to harm either of them?”

Billie shook her head, then hesitated. “Well...Karen didn’t have the best relationship with her family, you see. Scott was pretty much all she had. Karen’s mom adored her though, but Karen...well she’ a tough cookie…” Billie stopped and sniffed again. “Was a tough cookie. She didn’t want to take handouts, not even from her mother.”

“Did her mother help her out a lot?” Fitz asked.

“Not really,” Billie answered, “I know she helped out with Kyle.”

“Kyle?” Jemma and Fitz repeated in unison. They glanced at each other, surprised by their sudden synchronicity. 

“Kyle Cabot, yeah. He works here. Makes a damn fine grilled cheese, if you ask me. He’s been having financial problems, though. Karen and Scott were trying to help him.”

Jemma turned to Fitz, “So that’s the kid they were trying to help at the diner.”

“But how does helping Kyle end up with them dead in their apartment? And how does it connect it to Cross?”

Jemma bit her bottom lip, thinking. 

“Cross as in the fireman?” Billie inquired. “He ate here all the time."

Jemma and Fitz met each other’s gaze. “There’s our connection,” Jemma stated. “Is Kyle here today?”

“No, he’s off today.” Billie replied. 

Fitz turned to Jemma, “I gave you permission to look through my fanmail, right? Maybe the answer we’re looking for is there.”

Jemma nodded and smiled at Fitz for a moment before turning and thanking the waitress, giving her condolences. Then they stepped back inside to finish their meal.

So far, working with Fitz wasn’t all that bad. Maybe it would even prove useful.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma and Fitz make it back to the Precinct, where Jemma learns a bit more about her new partner. Together, they resolve to go through Fitz's fanmail in the hopes of finding a potential suspect....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this fic went on a bit of a mini hiatus! But to make up for it, a slightly longer chapter! With plenty of Fitzsimmons goodness! 
> 
> A huge round of applause to Nikki (you may know her as 'fitzsimmmonns' over on Tumblr) for being the best beta ever. And a huge thank you to everyone who's left kudos or comments behind on this fic! And those kind souls who sent me nice messages about this fic on Tumblr. You're all awesome!

“It’s very home-y here,” Fitz commented as they walked to Jemma’s desk. “I can see why you like it here.”

Jemma, who had been going to collect something out of her desk drawer, stopped and smiled at him, “It’s my job, Fitz. Of course I like it.”

“Yeah, well, not everyone likes their job,” he replied, making a face somewhere between deep thinking and regret, “I mean loads of people hate their jobs.”

“Name one,” Jemma said, straightening so that she was nearly eye-level with Fitz. He folded his arms, taking a step forward, a smug and determined look on his face. Clearly, he loved a good challenge. 

He pointed over her shoulder, she turned so she could see. A pasty middle-aged man was being walked to one of the interrogation rooms. She turned back to Fitz, raising an eyebrow.

He leaned down toward her and whispered, “Bet he’s not enjoying his job right now, is he?”

She froze, realizing their close proximity. Heart-rate inclining, she replied, “Probably not, no-”

Fitz opened his mouth, seemingly unaware of the position they were in, but whatever he was about to say, she never got to hear it. 

“Hey, English, we got ourselves a problem.”

The spell had been broken; Jemma and Fitz leapt away from each other, as if caught in a worse position than they had been. 

Jemma straightened up and looked up at Mack, who was staring at them with a raised eyebrow. She cleared her throat, “What’s wrong?”

Mack glanced between Jemma and Fitz for a millisecond before continuing, “Kyle Cabot isn’t at his apartment.”

“He’s not?” Fitz said, surprised, as he leaned up against Jemma’s desk. She shot him a dirty look and he mouthed “what” at her, but another glare made him stand up straight. He frowned and folded his arms.

“No, he’s not,” Mack replied, then turned to Jemma, “Why is he here exactly-no offense, Fitz.”

“None taken,” Fitz said easily with a shrug.

“He wants to help,” Jemma answered, “And I think it’s a good idea. Always nice to have a second pair of eyes.” 

“Especially with blue ones like those,” said a new voice. Jemma turned to see Skye walking up, a bright smile spread across her features.

“What are you doing out of the morgue?” Jemma inquired. 

“Morgue?” Fitz repeated, horrified. Mack turned to Fitz, raising an amused and surprised eyebrow. 

“Hey, just because I write it, doesn’t mean I enjoy it,” Fitz said, scrunching up his nose in disgust. 

“He’s afraid of it, isn’t he?” Skye muttered, trying to hold back a laugh. Mack didn’t do quite as well and chuckled. Fitz glared at both of them.

“If there’s anything I’m afraid of, it’s-” whatever “it” was, however, they never found out since a new presence halted all conversation.

“Fitz?” Phil Coulson said, confusion and surprise evident in his voice. His eyes twinkled under the orange lights, and his black suit stood out from the green walls of the precinct. “What are you doing here?”

“Coulson,” Fitz said, stepping forward and shaking the Captain’s hand, “Good to see you again, sir.”

“Phil,” he corrected.

“Coulson,” Fitz insisted, dropping his hand from Coulson’s, “Calling you ‘Phil’ just seems wrong.”

“Phil?” muttered a new voice with a British lilt, “Um...his first name is ‘Captain’.” 

Fitz turned to see a man around his height walk in, a scruff on his face, and cropped dark hair. His eyes glinted mischievously. Coulson let out an exasperated sigh, “Hunter-”

Hunter smirked and raised his hands innocently, “Just saying. Only May is allowed to call you ‘Phil’. Now Murder Mystery can too?”

“I’ve got a name, you know,” Fitz retorted.

“Aye, I know.” Hunter replied, sitting down on the top of his desk, “I hear it all the time.”  

Fitz frowned. Who could possibly be talking Hunter’s ear off about  _ him? _ Before he could think more of the conversation, Mack cleared his throat.

“As I was saying before the party started, Kyle Cabot has gone awol. Got an APB out on him, but so far no luck.” Mack said, gaining the attention of everyone. “I’m starting to think the kid might be our killer.”

“What exactly do we know about Cabot, though?” Fitz inquired.

Jemma turned to face him and was surprised to see that he was munching on a bag of crisps. She stared at the bag questioningly and Fitz gave a quick shrug. “He’s a chef at the diner that Karen and Scott frequented,” Jemma said slowly, “He’s OCD according to the file we have...have we been able to get a peek into his apartment?”

“Not yet. Warrant hasn’t come through,” Mack replied.

The room fell quiet for a moment until Coulson spoke again. “No one has told me why Fitz is here, yet.”

Jemma opened her mouth to explain, but then closed it as a new thought occurred to her. “Sir...how exactly do you know Fitz?”

Fitz suddenly became very interested in the floor.

Coulson shrugged as if it were the most normal thing in the world, “May’s his agent.”

Jemma’s eyes went wide, “May?  _ Your  _ May?” She turned to Fitz, stunned. “ _ Melinda May  _ is your book agent? And you didn’t bother to tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant to any of our conversations!” Fitz protested, then continued, “Hey! Don’t go pinning this on me. I was perfectly fine working on my own, until you forced me to help-”

“Oh please, as if I forced you to do anything,” Jemma retorted. “You were more than a willing party to work with me, Fitz. And don’t deny that the past day hasn’t been the highlight of your entire pasty life-”

“Pasty? Oh, really-” but before Fitz could continue, they were interrupted by Coulson.

“Guys! Can we just,” he motioned at the room around them, reminding them of their audience. Fitz mumbled a sheepish apology, and Jemma straightened her posture, embarrassed. 

“Mom and dad are fighting,” Skye mumbled. 

“Fitz, you can consult on this case. Since the killer is using your books as inspiration, you could provide crucial information. Jemma, you’ve got two PhDs in fields I can’t pronounce.” Coulson said, “Together, you’re twice as smart. Now get to work.”

Everyone in the room fell silent, and he gave a once over at everyone before heading back to his office. Skye raised her hand and called after him, “We can do stuff too!”

“I know you can,” he called back at her and with that, his office door shut. 

The room went quiet and everyone stared awkwardly at each other. Not unsurprisingly, Lance was the first to break it. “Well, I’d say everyone deserves a nice lunch break, don’t we?” He hopped up from his chair, grabbing his leather jacket and shrugging it on.

Skye raised an eyebrow, “You seem awfully eager for that lunch.” 

“Yeah, well, a growing man’s gotta eat,” Lance replied, busying himself with gathering his things and putting them in his pockets.

“Lemme guess,” Mack said, folding his arms, “There’s a girl going to lunch with you, isn’t there?”

Lance looked over at Fitz for a split second before shrugging a little too innocently, “Not at all. Why would there be?”

“Because you’ve been talking about how you’ve met the most amazing woman for the past two weeks,” Skye stated, leaning up against Jemma’s desk. She glared at Skye but, unlike Fitz, the M.E. simply ignored her.

“And on more than occasion, you’ve referred to her as a ‘demonic hell beast’.” Mack reminded him.

“But I meant it in a loving way,” Lance said with a wink. “Trust me, she’s called me worse.”

“How the hell does this relationship even work out?” Mack inquired.

“We fight, we argue, we snog and then we-”

“Alalalalalala,” Skye cried, putting her fingers in her ears, “I don’t want to hear it.” 

Hunter rolled his eyes, “As if you and Trip haven’t done worse.” 

“Me talking about my romantic life is far different from me hearing about yours,” Skye replied, tilting her head with a sardonic smile. 

“So you admit you and Trip  _ have- _ ”

“Hunter,” Mack interrupted, “Your date.”

“What?” Lance glanced down at his watch. “Shit. I’ve got to go. See ya,” with that he took off for the doors, patting Fitz on the shoulder as he went.

“And with that,” Skye elbowed Mack, “We’ve got lunch too. Remember, you wanted to meet up with Yoyo and Trip?”

“Right,” Mack said and if Jemma wasn’t mistaken, there was something akin to excitement in his voice, “We’d better get going for that-” he glanced over at Jemma, “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, we’re just going to be going through Fitz’s fan mail.” Jemma replied and made a shoo motion with her hands, “Go! Have fun. Say hello to Elena and Trip for me.”

“Will do,” Skye said, giving her a two fingered salute, which Jemma returned. 

Mack pointed at one of the smaller rooms, “Doug put the boxes of fan mail in there. Good luck, there’s a lot.”

“We can handle it,” Jemma said confidently, and stepped forward and hugged both of her friends. “Have fun.” 

“Yes, mom,” Skye whined, but smiled at her friend. With that, Mack and her headed for the doors, waving back at Fitz and Jemma as they went.

Fitz glanced over at the door that led to the small room Mack had pointed it, “It can’t be that bad, can it?”

“Doubtful,” Jemma mused, but didn’t seem so convinced. “Mack isn’t one to exaggerate.” 

Together, they stepped toward the door. Jemma reached forward and opened it, revealing a dimly lit room with a long table in the center, which was currently layered in hundreds of boxes. Jemma felt her shoulders drop.

“I take it back,” Fitz murmured, “It is that bad.”

* * *

 

Jemma pushed aside yet another fruitless letter. They’d been at this for hours and most of the letters were just fans gushing about Fitz’s work, or even pointless babble about his looks (which apparently hadn’t gone unnoticed among his younger and, sometimes, older fanbase). Some of the letters even included photos of fans dressed as his characters.

Jemma raised an eyebrow as she showed one to Fitz. A woman with long legs, dark hair and darker eyes was dressed up as Kara, making a ridiculously badass pose with a prop gun. 

Fitz didn’t seem to be entirely phased, “They send photos in like that all the time. It’s kind of nice, to be honest. Seeing a face to the name and all that. Plus the novelty of seeing people dressed as your characters-”

“Which I’m sure boosts your ego,” Jemma joked, looking down. Ahead of her, there was a shuffle of papers from where Fitz was standing at the end of the table. He moved toward her, sitting down in the chair next to her.

After a moment of feeling his unwavering gaze on her, she looked up and was startled to see how close he was to her. His eyes were a beautiful shade of blue, truly ones someone could get lost in. She mentally shrugged off the thought and cleared her throat. “Yes, Fitz?”

“Why are you here?”

“What?” 

Fitz sighed and slumped back in his chair. Jemma tried to ignore the disappointment she felt at the newfound space between them. He made a wide gesture with his arm at the amount of letters before them. “I know their stories, or at least part of them. They tell me, in each letter, why they love my stories. What draws them there. The inciting incident that led them to my novels. But what I can’t figure out is your inciting incident.”

“My inciting incident?” Jemma repeated. “What, that led to your novels?”

“No,” Fitz shook his head, “To here. To this job. You’re smart, Simmons. You’ve got two PhDs, for god’s sake. Yet you’re sitting here, pouring through fanmail with me-mail I barely remember myself-looking for a killer. Why?”

Jemma swallowed hard. “You answered your own question.”

Fitz scrunched his eyebrows together, “How?”

She shook her head, “Nothing….why do you think I’m here?”

He leaned forward and studied her for a moment, “Like I said, two PhDs. Going out for Biochem, that means you probably would’ve ended up at a private lab, getting better pay than you do here. But yet….” he motioned at the room around them, “here you are.”

“So where does that train of thought take you, Doctor Watson?”

“In a book, every character has a backstory. Something that drives them, and that’s often the case in real life as well….usually a tragedy of some sort.”

Jemma stiffened. Images flashed before her eyes, unwanted: her mother, dead on the street, blood pouring from her wounds. Detective Inspector Jarvis, waiting on their driveway. Her father, drinking away his miseries while Claire partied, trying to forget the pain of their loss while Jemma stayed at home, pouring her heart and soul into finding out  _ why _ until it almost consumed her.

Fitz’s eyes trailed down to her hands, which were clenching onto the letter she’d been holding so tightly that her knuckles were white. He cleared his throat and grabbed a new letter and ducked his head. “But I’m not a...I’m not all that good at reading people, anyway.”

Jemma nodded and looked back down at the letter she was holding. She gingerly placed it back on the table and picked up a new one. She skimmed through it, stopping when she saw the drawing on it. “Fitz….I think I may have just found our connection...”

“What?” he looked up, surprised and immediately left his seat, moving behind her and placing his hand on her chair to balance himself as he leaned over her shoulder. He skimmed over the paper, stopping when he saw the sketch of one of the first murders from  _ FZZT. _

He gulped, “That’s not cosplay.”

“No,” Jemma agreed, “It certainly isn’t.” She reached over and grabbed the envelope the letter had been taken from, reading the return address. “And look who sent it.”

Fitz leaned a little further so he could get a better look at it. “Kyle Cabot-” he read, voice trailing off. He turned his head to look at Jemma. “You don’t think he did it, do you?”

Automatically, she turned to face him, ready to explain that she had to follow where the evidence led, but stopped short when she realized that they, once again, had but a small amount of space between them. Fitz seemed to notice too, because his breath had hitched. 

Before either of them could do anything to diffuse the new and awkward tension in the room, Fitz’s stomach rumbled. He gave an apologetic smile at Jemma. “I haven’t ate since breakfast.”

Jemma glanced down at her watch and was horrified to find that it was five in the afternoon. “I hadn’t any idea it had gotten that late...I’m sorry, Fitz, if I had known how long it’d take, I would’ve brought snacks-”

“It’s fine, Simmons! Besides, I kind of had...ya know,” he scratched the back of his head nervously, “Fun.”

Her face felt funny and it took her a second to realize that his words had made her smile. She tucked one loose strand of hair behind her ear and nodded, “So did-” she cleared her throat, “So did I. Minus the fact that a killer remains on the loose.” 

“Well, apart from that,” Fitz agreed with a nod. She chuckled and he gave a meek smile, looking down at the table. 

They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment until Jemma remembered their previous conversation. “Oh! Well, I suppose I’d better let you get going. So you can eat and get home and...do whatever it is you do at home.”

“Mainly watch TV with my mum,” Fitz replied. At her quizzical expression, he shook his head. “It’s a very long story and I’ll explain later.”

“Okay,” Jemma said, with another laugh. She moved forward to clean up some of the letters and Fitz moved forward to help but she swatted his hand away, “Leave, I’ve got this.”

“Well, I can’t leave you with a mountain of my fan mail,” he said and began to help her move the letters back into their respective boxes. It took them all of thirty minutes to do so and by the time they were finished, Fitz’s stomach was growling twice as loud as before.

He paused as he pushed the last box aside and began playing with the corner of it with his fingers. “So, um….dinner.”

“Fastly approaching,” Jemma agreed, looking over the letter from Cabot again, “And I’m sure we’ll eat it, especially with that growling stomach of yours’.” 

“No, no,” Fitz groaned, embarrassed. “Dinner...you, me….someplace-someplace nice?”

Jemma froze in her spot, the reality of his words hitting her.  _ Dinner. Someplace nice. Me and you. _

He had ducked his head by the time she looked up at him. “Oh,” she said. “Like a….like a date?”

Fitz snapped his head up, blue eyes widened in alarm. “What? No-not if….well I mean-if you wanted it be, it could be-but if not, just-ahm…..a dinner between colleagues?”

Her stomach did a flip and she tried to ignore the already bubbling excitement roaring through her. “That would...that would be nice. I’d love to.”

Fitz lost his balance for a moment before straightening back up. She couldn’t tell if he was surprised by her quick answer, or if he was just clumsy. Perhaps, maybe it was both.

“So, um...I’ll head home and I will, ah...I’ll look up some places for that and….let you know.” He said and started for the door, stopping when his hand landed on the handle. “Um...what’s your address so I can pick you up-I mean, not in...not that way...in a car….with a lot of space..between us and um….”

Deciding to take him out of his misery, Jemma pulled out a notepad and pen and scribbled down her address, tore the page out of the book and handed it to him. “Address and phone number, so that you can call when you’ve found a place.”

“Right,” Fitz said with a nod, “A phone number could help with that. Thank you, Simmons.”

“Yeah,” she replied with a smile. He nodded at her again, then left the room. She watched his retreating back until the door finally slid back into place with a click.

She smiled to herself. Dinner….dinner wouldn’t be too bad. She nodded and started packing up.. If she was perfectly honest, she enjoyed Fitz’s company. He was smart, funny, nice. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to learn more about her new partner in crime solving.

Yeah, she’d go home, shower, change, do her makeup….another bubble of excitement surged through her. She felt like a child at Christmas, and she wasn’t entirely sure why the promise of dinner with Fitz did that to her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz and Simmons go on their dinner, leading to some shocking revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back with another chapter! Chapter six, can you believe it? 
> 
> Once again, a huge round of applause to everyone's who's supported me on this fic. Friends who've sent me angst threats and beta-ed chapters for me (tipping my hat off to you, Nikki! You may know her as 'fitzsimmmonns' on Tumblr), who have made my day by talking to me about the fic (*waves at bioforensics from Tumblr*) and all you lovelies who've tagged me in FS/Castle parallels and posts! And of course, everyone who's left behind comments and kudos and subscribed to this fic! 
> 
> Now that I'm done being sappy, I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Jemma smoothed out imaginary wrinkles in her suit one last time before taking one last look in the mirror. Makeup perfectly applied (she still thought the eyeliner was a bit much, but it was too late to change it), hair as good as it would get, she was as ready for her dinner as she’d ever be.

Dinner. With Fitz.

Fitz who had ended up tumbling into her life through a murder case, seemed to enjoy solving mysteries as much as she,  _ and  _ happened to be her favorite author. Not that she was going to tell him that.

She nodded to herself and began pacing around her apartment, debating on what she could do until he got there. He had called her a few hours ago, raving about some restaurant he loved, when she agreed it’d be a nice place to eat, he promised to pick her up at the time they’d agree on.

Ultimately, she landed on sitting down on her couch, cracking open a book, finding herself staring at a random page. The words stared blankly up at her. She sighed and sat the book aside. She was too jittery to read at the moment.

Just as she had started to wonder if she had enough time to fix a cuppa, there was a series of knocks on her door. She smiled softly to herself as she crossed the space of her apartment, stopping at the door to check who it was.

Through the peep-hole, she could see Fitz bouncing around on the balls of his feet, glancing around the hallway. Finally his attention fell back on the door and he must’ve spotted her staring, because he gave a small wave. 

She pulled away, unlocked the door and opened it. 

Fitz’s eyes widened as he took in her appearance, “Detective, you look….you look nice.” 

Jemma felt a blush crept to her cheeks, “Thank you, Fitz. You look nice as well.” It was the truth, Fitz had traded out his plaid button ups for a rather crisp looking suit. 

“Thanks,” Fitz said. They stared at each other for a long moment and then he cleared his throat, “Are you, ah...ready?”

“Hm? Oh! Yes, yes, I’m ready.” 

Fitz stepped aside, making sure she could get through the door. She grabbed her purse and stepped out, Fitz following closely behind-but putting enough space between them that it wasn’t awkward or creepy. 

Even still, her heart did an unexpected flip as Fitz’s hand barely grazed her’s as they both reached for the elevator call button at the same time. Instantly, Fitz looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

* * *

Jemma expected the restaurant to be big, vast, expensive and showy. In reality, it was a beaten-down looking pub. Jemma arched an eyebrow as she read the words above the door. “The Old Haunt?”

“Use to be called Providence, actually, back when I first found this place.” He said as he moved around her so he could hold the door open for her. She stepped inside, smiling to herself until a thought removed her smile from her face entirely.

“Now hold up, you said you were in college at fifteen-”

Fitz held his hands up as the door swung shut behind them. “Don’t go all bad cop on me, Simmons. They do sell food here too, you know.”

Jemma fought the urge to smile at his theatrics but failed spectacularly. “Bad cop?” She repeated.

She tried to ignore the fact that a blush appeared on his face and his attention fell on the wall behind her, obviously embarrassed. Somehow, despite their intention to keep this dinner platonic, it felt all too much like a date.

Before Fitz could say anything more, a booming voice called out in a heavy Scottish lilt, “Fitz! My boy!”

The writer turned just in time to be enveloped in a hug by a tall, skinny man wearing a dark coat. His hair was gray, eyes a spectacular shade of gray. When he pulled away, his attention fell on Jemma. The excitement that appeared on his face couldn’t be denied, “You brought a lady with you?” 

The man stepped toward Jemma, taking her hand and shaking it vigorously. “It’s wonderful to meet you-”

“Jemma,”

“Jemma! What a lovely name. Aida!” The man turned on the spot, toward the kitchen. At the sound of the name, a woman in her forties with sandy blonde hair popped her head out the kitchen doorway.

“What is it now, Holden?”

“Fitzy’s brought a date!” Holden called back excitedly. He looked like a child on Christmas morning. 

“A date?” Aida repeated, stepping out of the kitchen fully. She looked Jemma up and down and smiled warmly at her. “Hello dear!” She called, giving a wave that Jemma politely returned, trying not to laugh at Fitz’s expense, who was staring at his shoes, face as red as a fire extinguisher. 

“Sorry,” Holden said, turning back to Jemma and clapping his hands together. He motioned at Fitz, “He doesn’t bring company very often. Usually it’s either Bobbi or the lovely Mairi.”

Next to her, Jemma heard a groan from Fitz. Holden smiled mischievously at Fitz’s discomfort. “You can’t deny the chemistry between us, my boy. We’re like two chemicals, combine us and we explode.”

“Okay, okay, I’ve-” Fitz shuddered, “I’ve heard enough. No more….innuendos, please, about my mother...especially with science, for god’s sake. Who flirts with science?”

“I don’t know,” Jemma interjected, “I think it’s a bit romantic, when done correctly.”

Fitz turned to her, surprised. For the first time, she wondered if he was seeing her as a person and not just a cop. Somehow, though, she felt that it might’ve been more than that. As soon as the long was shared between them, it ended with Holden bringing them back to earth.

“Either way, your table is over in the corner, just as you like it. Drinks will be served shortly. Fantastic meeting you, Jemma!” Holden said, giving a courteous wave as he disappeared in the kitchen. As Fitz led her to the table, Jemma caught a glimpse of Holden and Aida eyeing them from the cut-out window between the kitchen and the bar. 

She slid into one side of the booth, Fitz on the other. They stared at each other for an awkward moment before Jemma broke the silence. “So, who was that?”

Fitz’s expression returned to that of embarrassment. “Holden Radcliffe. He was one of my mum’s old boyfriends before I was born. He’s been sort of a mentor over the years….encouraged me to publish my first novel.”

“He’s not your-?”

“I refuse to do the math or have it tested,” Fitz said. “It’s less complicated the way we’ve got things going.”

“Complicated seems to be your family’s middle name,” Jemma replied. Fitz laughed and it sounded like music to her ears.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I’ve got a father-like figure who might actually be my father and I don’t know it,” Fitz shook his head. “My life could be a soap opera.”

“Or an hour long drama,” Jemma teased. “But with me in your life, it’d be a crime drama.”

“My life’s boring without you. Could you imagine an hour of television of me sitting at my laptop, staring at a blank screen? It would be cancelled immediately.”

Jemma giggled and ducked her head. He could joke as easily as he could compliment. Part of her wondered if he considered this flirting…..the other half wondered if she herself considered this flirting. Finally, she forced herself to look back up. “I doubt anything about you is boring.”

He smiled at that, a real smile that made his eyes light up. She liked it when they lit up like that, and she liked it even more when she was the cause for it. “So,” she said, clearing her throat, “What’s it like being Leo Fitz?”

“Me? Well, I go to boring, expensive and predictable parties where people ask me to sign autographs-”

“I meant you, Fitz. Not that made up version you parade around in public.”

“Oh, you mean the dashing and ruggedly handsome writer who thinks he’s all that?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Hm,” Fitz chuckled. “My alter ego is apparently Bruce Wayne.”

“Batman fan, huh?” Jemma asked, as Holden appeared, silently sliding their drinks toward them. Fitz nodded in thanks and Jemma reached for her’s, taking a sip. 

“Well,” Fitz said, turning his attention back to her, “Who isn’t?”

“Hm, let me think,” Jemma gave a show of thinking for a second, before answering, “The Joker?”

“True, I don’t think he likes Batman that much. You? Who’s your favorite superhero?”

Jemma considered for a moment, taking a sip of her drink again. “Wonder Woman.”

“Really?”

“Well, who doesn’t love Wonder Woman?”

Fitz didn’t hesitate, “The uninformed.” 

Jemma pointed at him with her butter knife, “Precisely.”

 

* * *

 

Dinner went by easily, them trading off barbs about their favorite shows and books and films. They both shared a love of Doctor Who, but were on opposite sides when it came to Star Trek and Star Wars.

“Oh come on,” Fitz had protested, “There’s a Scottish engineer in Star Trek, what’s there not to love?”

“Well, Star Wars has one of the most iconic female characters in it, so…”

Once they’d finished their food, they talked for another half hour, their conversation finally turning toward their case.

“Do you really think Kyle Cabot did it?”

The question took her by surprise. Did it really matter what  _ she  _ thought? It was up to the evidence, the jury, to the entire law system. But the look on Fitz’s face told her that it mattered to him. 

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “It just depends on where the evidence takes us.”

“You don’t ever go by your gut? How very un-Gibbs like.”

“Well, this isn’t an episode of  _ NCIS  _ either, Fitz. The real world isn’t always what we’d like it to be.” 

“I know that,” Fitz replied, playing with his silverware. “It just seems too….”

“Too what?”

“Easy. Kyle Cabot fits the bill of practically every single  _ Criminal Minds _ killer-seriously, have you ever noticed how many OCD people are the killer? It’s ridiculous.”

“Exactly how much TV do you watch?”

“Too much,” Fitz retorted. “It’s just…...where’s the story in it? What made Kyle kill two of the people that were trying to help him? Where’s the logic in it?”

“Fitz, there’s no logic in any murder.”

“Actually, there usually is-”

“Are you seriously going to argue with me, a detective, about the logic of murder?”

Fitz groaned and looked down at the table. “All I’m saying is that Kyle didn’t wake up one morning and just randomly decide he was going to kill the two people that actually cared about him.”

“Well, we don’t know the whole story, now do we? All we know is that Kyle knew all three of our victims, sent you a letter with a graphic and rather gruesome illustration of our murder scene. Your’s, technically. I will follow the evidence where it leads me, Fitz. Even if I don’t like how it ends.”

Fitz nodded and looked up at the ceiling. “I didn’t mean to put a sour note on our dinner.”

Jemma let out a breath. “I know you didn’t.”

“I just….I looked through this kid’s Facebook, Jemma. Bobbi helped me and he’s just...he never misses any of his friends’ birthdays, he doesn’t post anything but those stupid Minion memes! There doesn’t appear to be a bad bone in his body.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” Jemma said gently. “Some people are just better at hiding their true self.”

Fitz locked eyes with her and the intensity of his blue eyes startled her. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Hiding your true self?”

Jemma’s expression went cold. “No.” 

Fitz drummed his fingers on the table, tapping out a tune she recognized as the Doctor Who theme song. Finally he stopped and leaned forward. “You want to know why I became a writer?”

Jemma paused for a moment, then nodded.

Fitz leaned back, squeezed his eyes shut then took a deep breath. “I was ten years old. Me and my mum, we were on vacation. It was before Bobbi’s parents….well, it was before she was living with us. We were on vacation and I was walking along this beach by myself. There was supposed to be a meteor shower that night and I had calculated that the best time to see it would be at midnight.

“And as I was watching the stars...I heard this noise behind me.” Fitz swallowed hard, unable to meet Jemma’s eyes. She longed to reach out and take his hand, but she was too absorbed into the story to do anything.

Fitz continued on, despite his wavering voice. “I turned around and there was this….this figure. Covered in a black cloak, and it seemed to glide toward me….there was a body behind it. A young man...I’d never seen someone look so ghostly pale before…..and the figure it-it grabbed me, told me to never tell anyone and then it was gone. And I ran. I ran all the way back to our apartment, looking back at least a thousand times, praying to everything I didn’t believe in that it wouldn’t follow me back to my mother.”

“Fitz-”

“I’m not telling you this to gain sympathy, Simmons,” Fitz said, looking up at her. “I’m telling you this because I know what you’re thinking. That I’m too naive. Too willing to give a second chance, that I don’t believe some people are born evil.” 

He leaned forward in his booth. “But I do.  _ I know _ . I’ve seen it up close.”

She stared at him for a moment, but before she could reply, a clap of thunder boomed overhead. The lights in the pub flickered on and off for a second. Jemma shivered. “I think you’ve got your own mood setting.”

Fitz chuckled grimly. “Apparently I do.” He glanced down at his watch. “I think we’d better get to the car. It’s late and the last thing we want to do is get caught in a storm.”

“Smart thinking,” Jemma said. Quietly, they gathered their things and Fitz paid for the dinner, despite her protests (“I’m a best selling author, Simmons, gotta put that money to some good use.”) and then they headed out with one final goodbye to Holden and Aida.

They stepped outside, getting soaked immediately. “Arrrrrrgh,” Fitz growled, “It’s bloody freezing.”

“Rain usually is!” Jemma called back, struggling to be heard over the intensity of the rain. Fitz ushered her to the car, unlocking it and opening the door for her. She climbed in and shivered as Fitz shut the door behind her. 

She watched as he ran around the length of the hood, grumbling and swearing under his breath, until he slid into the driver seat. As he shut the door, he turned to her. “Perfect weather for a ghost story.”

“Fitz?”

“Yes?”

Jemma shivered again before she could reply and Fitz leaned into the back seat, pulling out an old jacket. He handed it to her and she pulled it on, sighing as the warmth took hold. She turned to him, “You might not get this back.”

He shrugged, “I’ll live.” He tapped the wheel then said, “What were you going to ask?”

“Was that story true? About the body you found?”

Fitz nodded. “Before you ask, I did contact the police but they never found the body. By the time our vacation was over, I was half convinced I’d dreamt the whole thing up. But it made a hell of a story.”

Jemma’s eyebrows scrunched together. “You wrote a story about it?”

“My very first.  _ Maveth, _ I called it. Hebrew word for-”

“Death,” Jemma finished. Fitz locked eyes with her for a moment, then nodded.

“Yeah...that one. I’ve never really told anyone that before, aside from my mum and Bobbi….I don’t really know why I felt the need to tell you.”

“I think it was to prove a point.” Jemma replied, noting how close they’d ended up as they talked.

“Yeah, but still….I shouldn’t have burdened you with that. It’s my cross to bear, not your’s.”

“Everyone’s haunted by something, Fitz.” She sighed and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. He told her his big secret, why shouldn’t she? “My mother..she, ah...she died when I was seventeen. We were just about to move here, actually. We were going on a family dinner, me, Claire-my sister-and my parents. Well, my mom, she-she was working on a case...so she said she’d meet up with us. And she never did. 

“We came home to a Detective Inspector waiting on our drive. Edwin Jarvis. T old us. She was found dead, stabbed. On the street, alone.” 

Jemma’s hands shook. “That’s why I became a cop. My father started drinking. My sister, she started partying. We drowned ourselves. My father in alcohol, my sister in anything she could, really. And I….I drowned myself in work. I needed to know why. They closed the case because they couldn’t find any evidence, they kept hitting dead ends. Every time Detective Inspector Carter-Jarvis' partner-showed up at our door, I could see the pain and disappointment in her eyes. She wanted to help us but there was nothing to be done.”

“Simmons, I’m-”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Jemma said tightly. “Just don’t.”

A silence fell between them until Fitz broke it. “Why tell me?”

Jemma considered the question for a moment, chewing at her bottom lip. Finally, she said, “Because...because I feel like I can trust you. That’s why.”

Fitz nodded and another clap of thunder boomed overhead, making him jump. He leaned forward in his seat, looking up at the sky as lightning knifed through the inky darkness. “It’s getting pretty rough out here. I don’t think we’ll make it back to your apartment.”

“I don’t think we will, either.” Jemma admitted with a sigh.

Fitz looked at the steering wheel for a moment, then blurted, “My loft isn’t that far...maybe about ten minutes away, you could stay there till the storm passes. As a guest.”

Jemma’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t want to impose-” 

“You wouldn’t be,” Fitz continued on hurriedly. “We’ve got a guest room no one ever uses...Bobbi’s got spare clothes you could change into. Plus I’ve got tea.”

Jemma perked up at that. “Tea?”

“Yeah, tea.”

“Tea would be nice,” Jemma admitted with a small smile. “I’d like that.”

“Right,” Fitz said, staring at the wheel for a moment before putting the key in the ignition. Within a few seconds, they were on the road.

 

* * *

 

“It’s a nice building,” Jemma commented as they made their way toward the loft. “Have any friendly neighbors?” 

“I don’t know, to be honest. This isn’t a very chatty building. Only person I know is Stan, the mail-man.” 

“Ah,” Jemma said as Fitz pushed open the door of his loft. He let her in first and she let out a small gasp of surprise as she drunk in the surroundings. “It’s a lot bigger than I expected.”

“Well, it was my first ever splurge,” Fittz admitted with a chuckle, shutting the door behind them. “It always seemed a little too empty to me, until my mum and Bobbi moved in.”

“Why did they move in?” Jemma asked as Fitz let her to the kitchen. She hopped onto one of the stools and Fitz started the tea.

“They had this tiny little apartment in Queens before and the building was condemned so I finally convinced them to come stay with me. It’s been nice, so far.”

“That was kind of you,” Jemma said as Fitz took a water bottle out of the fridge and handed it to her. She nodded thanks and took a swig out of it.

“They’re family,” Fitz said, leaning against the counter. “It’s what you do. Plus this place can get lonely. I’m not really a-ah-”

“Social butterfly?”

“Yeah, I’m not really a social butterfly.”

“So, where is your mum and Bobbi?”

“My mum’s at her acting school for a late night class and Bobbi said she was going out on a date-”

They both froze as they heard a series of thuds from upstairs. Jemma turned to Fitz. “Are you absolutely certain no one’s home?”

Fitz nodded. Jemma stood up from her stool, bending down to pull out her back-up pistol from her shoe. Fitz stared at her.

“You took a pistol to our dinner?” He hissed.

“Just in case you were a creep,” Jemma whispered back. “Now shut up.”

Despite looking as if he wanted to do the exact opposite, Fitz clamped his mouth shut as Jemma slowly made her way to the stairs. Cautiously, she began walking up, pistol held steady. Behind her, she could hear Fitz following, not nearly as stealthy. 

As they continued down the hall-Jemma noted the various family photos hanging proudly on the walls-the noises only grew louder. Jemma pinpointed it to the bedroom down the hall.

Just as she made it to the door, a loud thump came from behind her. She whirled around to see Fitz nursing his knee. He gave her a grimace that could’ve been mistaken for a smile and motioned at the wall, then to his knee. 

She rolled her eyes, turning back to the door. The noises had stopped and now all she could hear was muffled voices. Just as she reached for the doorknob, the door swung open and she was met with the sight of a pistol. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A typical morning at Fitz's loft: pancakes, sports-talk, a visit from a renowned book agent...and a development in their case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up three weeks late without Starbucks or tacos*
> 
> Ahem, apologies for the delay with this chapter, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Major thanks to fitzsimmonns for beta-ing this chapter and constantly brainstorming future ideas for this fic with me. And a huge thanks to bioforensics and mrsdecaestecker on Tumblr for being such sweet supporters of this fic! :) And of course, everyone here on AO3 who's subscribed, commented and left kudos! And of course, read this!

Everything happened at once: a high pitched scream came from behind her, making the man in front of her lower his pistol long enough to cover his ears. “WHAT THE HELL, MATE?” cried Lance Hunter, wincing at the noise.

“Lance, what in the name of sanity are you doing in Fitz’s-” she trailed off as she took in the fact that Lance was wearing nothing but his trousers and that a young woman was standing behind him, her clothes messed up and her lipstick smudged.

Behind her, she heard Fitz squeal. She turned around to see him covering his eyes with his hand. “My eyes,” he moaned.

Bobbi rolled her eyes. “Fitz, you’ve written far worse in your novels.”

“Yeah, Fitz,” Jemma echoed, placing her pistol back into place and trying to hide the growing smile on her face.

“I’ve-that’s-it’s different-” Fitz protested, face turning several shades of red. Before he could say anything else, a squealing noise came from downstairs. He cleared his throat. “That’ll be t-the tea. I’m just going to-” and with that he took off down the hall.

Jemma watched him go with a smile until she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to see Lance staring at her, arms folded across his chest. “Why are _you_ here in Fitz’s apartment, huh?”

Jemma felt her cheeks heat up and she coughed. “To borrow some clothes from Bobbi. It _is_ storming, you know. I got soaked.”

“In your best suit,” Lance commented. “Were you and Fitz on a _date_?”

“We went to dinner,” Jemma said, fiddling with her tie. “A friend date.”

Lance chuckled. “No offense Jemma, but no one blushes like that on a _friend date.”_

“Hunter, leave her alone,” Bobbi called, annoyance clear in her tone. She turned her attention to Jemma. “Second drawer in that dresser over there is where I keep my comfy clothes.”

Jemma quickly grabbed a pair of sweatpants, a tank and a hoodie, thanked Bobbi and stepped out of the room before hightailing it down the hall before realizing she had no idea where to change at.

“Bathroom’s on the left, by the way!” Bobbi called just as the door to her bedroom shut. Jemma shuddered, trying not to think about what was currently happening behind the door, and went to change into some, thankfully, dry clothes.

A few minutes later, she made her way downstairs. Moonlight filtered in from the double windows in the back of the room. She stepped toward it, looking up to see a full moon staring back at her. All she could really see was the building across the way. Lights were dotted among the windows, some shrouded only in darkness.

Behind her, Fitz cleared his throat. She turned to see him holding a steaming mug. “Yours,” he explained.

“Thanks,” Jemma said, taking the cup. She blew on it for a second before taking a sip. “Oh,” she said, looking up in surprise. “It’s strong.”

“Caffeine is sort of a second blood to a writer,” Fitz said sheepishly. “If you want me to remake it-”

“No, no. It’s good ,thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Fitz replied, scratching the back of his neck. “So….this is….” he waved his hands about. “Weird.”

“I can leave if you-”

“What? No! No, no. I mean, leave if you want to, I just…..I’ve never actually...brought a girl home,” he groaned at his words. “Not that I’m...bringing you home, it was storming and-”

“Fitz,” Jemma chided, taking a step forward and placing a hand on his arm. “I know what you meant. You don’t have to keep freaking out each time you say something with a double meaning.”

He looked unsure. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. A silence fell over them as they stared at each other a bit too long than strictly necessary, her hand still on his arm. She cleared her throat and pulled away from him, taking another sip of her tea.

“So, um,” he coughed, “I have eight boxsets of Doctor Who on Bluray if you wanted to watch something-”

“Do you not have the newest series?”

“I haven’t actually seen it yet.”

“Oh my god, Fitz!” Jemma cried, choking on her tea. “You haven’t seen _Heaven Sent_?”

“No?”

She shook her head, sitting her tea down on the coffee table. “It’s amazing, Fitz! Peter Capaldi is absolutely _amazing_ in it! He-”

“Alala, I don’t want spoilers!” Fitz protested, putting his fingers in his ears. Jemma rolled her eyes.

“Alright, River Song,” she said, tugging on his arm. He relented and dropped his hands to his sides.

“Is it true that Clara leaves? I heard rumors Jenna Coleman would be, but I hadn’t heard anything official. Mum and Bobbi are the worst at keeping me informed.” Fitz shook his head as Jemma sat down on the couch. She patted the spot next to her.

“I thought you didn’t want spoilers,” she reminded him as he sat down beside her.

“I don’t, but if they revealed it before the series even aired, I don’t think it’d be considered spoilers. Also do they mention Danny? Like at all.”

“Spoilers,” Jemma said in a sing-song voice. Fitz groaned.

“I said it one time-”

“Well you were the one who said it-”

“Less than five minutes ago-”

“I can’t even believe you haven’t seen series nine yet-”

“And yet you won’t drop it.”

“It has easily one of the best episodes New Who has!”

They stared at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing.

It was strange, Jemma considered as she wiped a tear from her eye.  There was only a handful of people that could make her laugh like this-mostly her father, sister and family at the precinct. But laughing with Fitz felt just as natural, just as _normal_.

She stopped laughing and cleared her throat. Fitz had stopped laughing as well and an awkwardness fell between them as Jemma became acutely aware of how they had, once again, moved so closely to each other that there wasn’t a lot of room in between.

Fitz seemed to have noticed as well, as he stared at the little space between them, confused.He looked up and met her eyes. She considered looking away from his intense gaze, but she didn’t.

Her heart was pounding as the seconds ticked by. This was a friend date, she reminded herself. Bobbi and Hunter were upstairs, could come down any second-and in any state, really-and would see-

_See what?_

Just as they had started to lean toward each other, a magnetic pull luring them together, another clap of thunder boomed overhead and they jumped apart. Fitz cleared his throat, looking over at the window. “It’s um...it’s still pretty bad out there.”

“Yeah,” Jemma agreed with a nod as she replayed the past moment in her head, “It is.”

Fitz scratched the back of his head. “Oh, um, you can stay here, if you need to. Sleep in one of the guest rooms...or if you don’t want to hear Hunter and Bobbi, you could sleep in my room. I tend to stay up writing all night anyway.”

“You’re working on something new?”

Fitz looked up at her, biting his bottom lip, “Truthfully? No.”

Jemma frowned, scooting back closer to him. “How come?”

Fitz shrugged, trying to play it off. “Dunno, really. Just writer’s block, it’ll pass. Always does.” he smiled but it wasn’t like the other smiles he’d given her that night. It was the same smile he wore at every book party he attended. Fake _._

“Fitz,” Jemma said, dropping all of her skepticism into his name, “it’s not writer’s block, is it?”

Fitz’s mouth twitched and he scrubbed his face before launching himself off the couch. “It’s just that….Grant Ward, he was perfect! There wasn’t anything to hate about him-except when he was being arrogant-he was handsome, clever. Your typical save-the-day-secret-agent. But...it just got... _boring._ It’s why I killed him off.”

Jemma gasped. “Fitz!”

Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “Spoiler alert, I know. Sorry,” he added sheepishly.

Jemma sighed “It’s quite alright. Now continue: you killed Grant Ward off because he was boring.”

Fitz sighed, shoulders slumping. “And May warned me not too. Coulson, too. _Don’t kill him off, you’ll regret it.”_ Fitz made a wide motion with his arms. “And what do I do? I kill him off. And now-”

“You regret it?”

“I regret it! I hate it when May and Coulson are right. It’s like when your parents tell you not to do something and then you do it and then they go ‘I told you so’.”

“That isn’t fun,” Jemma agreed.

“No, it’s not.” Fitz said glumly, slumping down onto an armchair.

A silence fell between them once more and Jemma fiddled with her hoodie. “Have you got any ideas for another book?”

Fitz shook his head. “Not really,” he admitted. “But inspiration can come from anywhere.”

Jemma nodded and started to say something, but yawned instead. She was hoping Fitz wouldn’t notice, but he did. After a few moments of protesting that she wasn’t going to kick him out of his own room, he finally convinced her to stay there because he had writing (of some sort) to do.

“Hey Fitz,” she called. He turned to face her and she smiled, “Maybe sometime I’ll bring my series nine boxset over and we’ll  have tea and binge watch.”

Fitz grinned. “Sounds perfect.”

As she went to close the door to his room, she caught a glimpse of him settling down on the couch with a book. She hesitated a moment, but decided that if Fitz had made his mind up, then that was that. And so she closed the door quietly and made her way to the queen sized bed. She pulled the duvet down and stretched out, placing her head on the soft pillow.

She replayed the moment in the living room once more, wondering what would’ve happened if that clap of thunder hadn’t occurred...and why she felt such a connection Fitz. Maybe it was from years of reading his books...maybe it was something else entirely.

Then, as she started to doze off, her thoughts went to the case, wondering if maybe Fitz had been right...maybe Cabot wasn’t the one they needed to be looking for. Murders were rarely so straightforward….why would this one be any different?

* * *

When she woke up the next morning, it took her a second to remember where she was. It felt odd, waking up in Fitz’s bed, wearing Bobbi’s clothes. Jemma stretched, glancing at the clock and surprised to find that it was seven thirty.

As she went to climb out of bed, she heard the sound of knocking from what she guessed was the front door, followed by footsteps and then muffled voices. She marched toward the bedroom door and cracked it open.

A woman was standing in the kitchen with dark hair that fell past her shoulders, wearing a black suit. “I’ve been on the phone with Nelson and Murdock for the past hour, Fitz.”

Jemma’s eyes widened. Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson were quite possibly the best lawyers in Hell’s Kitchen. She’d met them a couple of times. In fact, the first time she ever went on trial to speak in a court after an investigation, they wished her good luck.

Fitz was leaned up against the counter, his blonde curls mussed and his shirt wrinkled from the night he’d spent on the couch. “Why?”

“They heard you were taken to the precinct, wanted to know why.”

“Nothing more than questioning.”

“They also wanted to know why you didn’t call them.”

Fitz grabbed his cup of tea and took a sip from it. “I didn’t have anything to hide, there was no need to bring lawyers in. I just wanted to help.”

“Help or not, this isn’t one of your novels. Being on this case is one of the most reckless things you’ve done.”

“May, I know. But there’s someone out there killing innocent people the way I did in my novels. I can’t let them get away with it.”

Jemma’s eyes widened. _Melinda May._

May fell silent for a moment, before saying, “If you get shot, I’m going to kill you myself.” And with that, she headed for the front door. As soon as it shut, Fitz sunk back against the counter, leaning his head backwards and exhaling.

Jemma debated going out then, but decided against it. She started back for the bed before she noticed the line of bookshelves going across the wall across from the bed. She moved towards it, skimming through the titles. Halfway through, there was a soft knock on the bedroom door. She turned around. “Yeah?”

The door opened a crack, then opened halfway and Fitz popped into the doorway, holding a steaming cup of tea. “Breakfast?”

Jemma smiled, “Sounds lovely.”

* * *

Within a few moments of breakfast starting, they were joined by Hunter and Bobbi. Bobbi lit up as she spotted the pancakes on the counter. “Oh, the Fitz special.”

Jemma quirked an eyebrow, “The Fitz special?”

Bobbi sat down on the stool beside Jemma. “Yeah, pancakes were the first thing Fitz learned how to cook, so when he was a kid, he would call them the Fitz Special.”

Fitz’s cheeks turned pink as he headed to the fridge to grab the orange juice for Hunter. “Well, I do make the best pancakes around.”

Jemma was keen to agree on that remark; his pancakes were indeed some of the best she’d had in her life. But she wasn’t going to let him off easy. “Actually,” she said, “I think my pancakes could beat your pancakes by a mile.”

Hunter chuckled. “Always the competitive one, Simmons.”

Jemma glared at him, “I’m not competitive, I’m just right. There’s a difference.”

Every laughed at that and soon breakfast was completed and dishes were done. Fitz was leaned up against the counter, stretching backwards to the point that Jemma caught a sliver of his bare skin from where his shirt had moved up, talking animatedly with Hunter about football.

Not as interested in sports as the boys, Bobbi and Jemma moved to the living room, talking about biochem and the latest advancements in their field. Eventually, the conversation veered toward Jemma’s current line of work.

“So what’s it like being a badass detective?” Bobbi asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

Jemma chuckled, “Well for one, you never really feel badass. Two, it’s...complicated. You see the world in black and white and, occasionally, grey. You see all the bad things and what the bad things do to people. But on the flip side, you can help people and give them answers.”

“That’s a good answer,” Bobbi commented. “I’m debating going into forensics. The current lab I work for is hell. Especially my boss, Daniel Whitehall. He’s an ass.”

Jemma frowned sympathetically. “Whatever lab you work at, they’ll be lucky to have you.”

Bobbi smiled warmly at that but sobered a few seconds later. “So what’s this case you’re working on? Fitz gave me some specifics the night you dragged him away from his party.”

Jemma scrunched up her nose. “Sorry about that, I hope I didn’t cause a ruckus.”

“Nothing that May couldn’t handle. Besides, you did Fitz a favor. He was bored stiff. He hates those parties...and the writer’s life in general here lately. In fact, he’s been a lot more...lifelike since he met you.”

Jemma glanced back toward the kitchen, where Fitz and Hunter were still chatting away. If you didn’t know the pair well, you would’ve thought they had known each other for years, not a couple of days. “It’s the other way round,” Jemma whispered.

Bobbi raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment further until Jemma turned the topic back to science. They continued on for awhile until Jemma’s cell phone rang. She headed toward her bag-which had been left on the coffee table-and pulled out her cell.

“Simmons.”

“English, you’re not going to guess what is happening.” Mack said on the other end.

“Did Tony Stark walk in the precinct?” Jemma guessed sarcastically. Mack chuckled and in her peripheral, she saw Fitz’s head perk up at the name.

“No, but someone else did: Kyle Cabot. He turned himself in.”

Jemma’s eyes widened and Fitz’s expression went from curiosity to concern. Next to him, Hunter looked equally as worried.

“ _What is it?”_ Hunter mouthed.

“We’ll be there in a few, Mack."

“We?” Mack repeated.

“Me, Fitz and Hunter,” Jemma replied. “It’s a long story.”

“One I’m sure I’ll hear,” Mack muttered. “Just make it fast, Simmons.”

Jemma quickly said goodbye and hung up. Fitz, Hunter and Bobbi stared expectantly at her. “Kyle Cabot just turned himself in.”

The room fell silent for a moment until Fitz spoke up. “Well there’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever want more of this au, feel free to send me prompts over at fitzsimmvns on Tumblr and I'll write up a one-shot set in the series! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz and Simmons rush to the finish line to find the true murderer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up six months late with Starbucks* bet ya thought you'd seen the last of me! As it turns out, my muse for aos disappears when aos is on...which is kind of ironic if you think about it.
> 
> My sincere apologies for how long it took me to update this, but I hope you all enjoy it regardless.

Jemma strode into the interrogation room with a grace and intimidation that could only be mastered by years of experience. She barely flitted her hazel eyes toward Kyle Cabot--a scrawny fellow with a wild tangle of dark curls on his head--as she entered the room, instead she began to flip through a folder as she leaned against the edge of the one-way mirror.

 

On the other side of the mirror, Fitz watched intently as Kyle watched Jemma with a sort of terrified curiosity. As soon as she had opened the door, Kyle had straightened in his seat, his dark eyes flitting nervously between Jemma and the folder in her hands.

 

“Told you she’d go with the silent treatment,” Hunter piped up from his position of lounging in a desk chair behind Fitz. “She may be the smallest person here, but she’s the scariest of us all.”

 

“Hunter have you ever looked in a mirror?” Mack retorted, twisting his body to get a better look at his friend. “You’re not that much taller than Simmons.”

 

“Shot through the heart, mate.” Hunter said in faux-hurt, holding his hand to his chest. Mack hmphed with a roll of his eyes.

 

“Kyle Cabot,” Jemma said finally, “waiter, reader...and killer.”

 

She slammed down the folder with a loud _thwack_ and stabbed her index finger in the direction of the crime scene photos that spilled out. Kyle’s face ashened as his eyes drifted across each photograph.

 

“Why did you kill them, Kyle? Was it revenge for something they did to you? Didn’t do?” Jemma inquired, leaning forward in her seat. Kyle averted his eyes from the photos, from Jemma and directed his attention to a wall, remaining silent.

 

Jemma remained silent, the kind of silence that reminded Fitz of the silence that often followed a scolding. Jemma sat down in her chair, keeping her chin tilted up.

 

“That’s it? You make a big show of turning yourself in and now you won’t speak? Didn’t you come here to claim the glory so that no one stole your thunder?”

 

Kyle snapped his head toward her, looking furious. “There isn’t any glory to claim,” he stated slowly between breaths, “I turned myself in...because... because it’s the right thing to do.”

 

Jemma laughed humorlessly, “Right! Because that’s exactly what someone would do after killing three people. The right thing to do would have been letting them live. But you didn’t. Now there’s a widow and a mother who had their child taken away. Is there anything right about that?”

 

Kyle turned his head away, his eyes sparkling and his lips pursed.

 

Jemma grabbed a photograph and slammed it down in front of him, making him jump. “They had their whole lives ahead of them,” Jemma said, keeping her finger on the photograph of Scott and Karen’s bodies.

 

Kyle froze as he registered who was in the photograph. An expression of horror twisted his entire face.

 

“And you stole that from them. How do you justify that?” Jemma continued, a tinge of confusion in her voice that mirrored Fitz’s own feelings regarding Kyle’s reaction.

 

Kyle slowly reached forward for the photograph, picked it up and stared at it, his eyes skimming over every single detail of it. Then, unexpectedly, tears began to run down his cheeks.

 

“I didn’t--I didn’t--they were my _friends_ ,” Kyle sobbed, throwing the photograph away. He held his face in his hands, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. “They--oh, god--no…”

 

The walls seemed to cave in around Fitz, and images of the bodies of Karen, Scott, and Adam passed unbidden in his mind’s eye.

 

_I wrote it. I wrote it and someone acted it out for their own heinous reasons…_

 

Fitz stumbled away from the mirror, managing a quick excuse to Hunter and Mack, and made his way out of the room.

 

_Cause and effect. Cause and effect. Cause and effect. Cause and effect._

 

There was a break room somewhere...he saw it earlier....

 

_They were his friends._

 

His feet moved of their own accord, leading him straight to the breakroom. Swallowing hard, Fitz grabbed onto the nearest chair, clinging to it as though it were a lifeline.

 

_They’re dead._

 

_You wrote it. And now they’re dead._

 

Fitz whirled away from the chair and table and moved to the coffee pot and began to methodically make a new pot. New filter, five scoops of coffee, ten cups of water…

 

_It’s your fault…_

 

Fitz slammed his fists down on the counter, making the cream and sugar containers rattle. He swore sharply from the pain in his hands, but it felt so much better than the turmoil raging inside of him.

 

When he started off so many years ago, he hadn’t thought of the consequences. Hadn’t thought that maybe someday someone would go and take his stories and act them out.

 

Fitz swore again and leaned against the counter for support before squeezing his eyes shut.

 

“Fitz?”

 

His eyes snapped open and he was surprised to see a woman--the M.E, Skye--standing in the doorway. Her brown eyes were round with concern but her gaze at him was soft.

 

“Are you okay?” she asked, taking a few steps toward him but kept enough distance so that she didn't overcrowd him.

 

He considered lying. Putting on a false smile or a cheeky grin with a nonchalant shrug had been his go to weapon for years. No one wanted to see the shy, insecure Leo Fitz that truly existed, no they wanted to see the cocky, confident, best selling author. And it was very, very easy to sometimes lose himself in that persona, to believe that maybe he could be that person.

 

But he wasn’t.

 

“No,” Fitz admitted weakly. “I’m not okay. People are dead because of me.”

 

Skye sank down into a chair and looked at him with disbelief, “No offense, Fitz, but you’re wrong. They’re not dead because you wrote the story. They’re dead because some asshole decided to take your story and run with it. I mean...it’s not like you pulled out a gun and shot them, is it?”

 

His stomach churned at the very thought of it, “That would be highly out of character for me.”

 

“My point, I make.” Skye replied with an almost smug tone. “You can’t control how people will react to things, Fitz, and it’s ridiculous to blame yourself for it. Except for killing off Kara, you can blame yourself for that.”

 

Fitz looked up in surprise, not expecting the joke, but realized that it made him smile regardless.

 

“Now you had better turn around and go back and figure out who the killer is.” Skye said.

 

“We caught the killer,” Fitz replied, trying to keep all sarcasm out of his voice and failing miserably.

 

“Fitz, you're a mystery writer, and I'm a medical examiner. You and I both know that a serial killer doesn’t suddenly grow a conscious overnight. There’s more to it than this.” Skye said forcefully. “Simmons knows it, too, I can see it in her eyes. Nothing about this case is sitting well with her.”

 

“She could’ve fooled me,” Fitz muttered. At that, Skye raised an eyebrow. Fitz quickly continued, “Last night at dinner, we were talking about the case and...and she said that she would go where the evidence would lead her.”

 

Skye stared at him for a moment, blinking owlishly. At last, she spoke: “Okay, we’re going to file away the whole dinner thing for a later discussion. Secondly, Fitz! She’s a cop, she _has_ to follow the evidence, rather she likes it or not. You of all people should understand that.”

 

Fitz opened his mouth to reply, but was cut short by Hunter appearing in the doorway. “Kyle Cabot just confessed.”

 

“To the murders?” Fitz exclaimed.

 

“No. He just confessed to taking the fall.”

 

* * *

 

 

The murder board was her domain. It was where pieces of the puzzle began to fall together, slowly but surely, until it completed an entire gruesome picture.

 

Now it stood in fragments, names and dates and times scribbled in neat handwriting, photographs of the crime scenes pinned here and there, details on the victims at the top, suspects in the corner…

 

“What are you thinking, English?” Mack asked, interrupting Jemma’s haze of thoughts. He had appeared at her side sometime during her brainstorming without her noticing.

 

“Who would he take the fall for? Kyle doesn’t have any family, and his list of friends pretty much consist of what you see here,” Jemma made a wide motion with her hands toward the victims names and photographs. “Who else has the motive and opportunity for these murders?”

 

Mack looked at the photographs, “What else do our victims have in common?”

 

“Nothing,” Jemma huffed impatiently, stalking away from the board to sit at her desk. “The only thread connecting them is the diner.”

 

“So maybe we’re looking at the wrong person from the diner.” Mack suggested, peering at the board with keen interest. “Someone else who had the means and the opportunity to kill our victims.”

 

“There's only one way we're going to find that information,” said Fitz as he appeared beside Mack.

 

Jemma bit back a laugh at the huge height difference between the two; Fitz seemed to realize it, too, as he craned his head up at Mack. “You're taller than I thought.” Fitz said bluntly.

 

“Yeah? You're shorter than I expected, Turbo.” Mack replied coolly, eyes trailing up and down Fitz for a moment before settling down back on the board.

 

“How do you think we’re going to get this information?” Jemma asked Fitz.

 

Fitz gave her a “you-won’t-like-this-idea” smile and said in a sheepish voice, “I’m going to have a chat with Kyle.”

 

* * *

 

 

Fitz did not feel as cool or as smooth as he wrote Grant Ward in his novels as he strode into the interrogation room, determined to get answers.

 

Fitz’s hands trembled at his sides and his skin felt clammy as he sat down opposite of Kyle.

 

 _You can do this_ , Fitz told himself. _You’ve written  sex scenes in public before, you can do this._

 

“Kyle, I'm...I'm Fitz.” _Genius, Fitz. Ugh. “_ Obviously.”

 

Fitz’s mind went blank as he struggled to think of what to say. Kyle dragged his gaze up to meet Fitz’s. There was a weariness in the way the other man held himself. Not the weight of guilt, but of loss.

 

“You want me to tell you why I turned myself in and for who.” Kyle said in a monotone voice.

 

“I had a theory about that, actually.” Fitz said, leaning forward and adopting his best story teller voice. It was the same tone he used at readings. “If you want to hear it,” Fitz added airily.

 

“I do,” Kyle said in a quick breath. “I want to hear your theory.”

 

“Here's what I think happened...you, our daring hero of the story, found out that one of your fellow colleagues was up to no good. But, being the good samaritan that you are, you decided to take the fall for them. Maybe forever...maybe long enough for them to get out of town--fast.”

 

Kyle paled and his eyes darted toward the door, before flicking back over to Fitz, who had leaned back in his chair apprehensively.

 

Time to see if this worked.

 

“You're right,” Kyle admitted quietly. Fitz jerked upright, trying to keep his expectations neutral,but his hopes were already up.

 

“I took the fall for her...I just wanted her to be happy, you know? I didn't think it through when she suggested it. But when Detective Simmons pulled out the photos...I couldn't just…”

 

Feeling excitement blossom through his chest like a swarm of butterflies, Fitz asked, “Who? Who did you take the fall for?”

 

The next words out of Kyle's mouth would change the very foundation that their case stood upon. It would bring Fitz and Simmons’ partnership to a close, something Fitz wasn't entirely thrilled with, and it would bring closure for every party involved.

 

Fitz took in a sharp breath.

 

Behind the glass, Jemma whispered, “Penny in the air…”

 

Kyle hesitated for a second that felt more like an eternity. At last he said, “Billie. It was Billie.”

 

“The waitress?” Fitz gaped, staring at Kyle in surprise.

 

In the viewing room, Lance moved beside Jemma.

 

“And the penny drops.” Lance said lowly, glancing over at Jemma.

 

Fitz had turned around in his seat to look at the mirror. She could tell, even from here, what he was thinking.

 

_We have to find her, and we have to stop her._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons and Fitz confront the killer, and new beginnings emerge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One year later.
> 
> One. Year. Later.
> 
> This monster is finally done.
> 
> I procrastinated until it'd been half a year, then until it'd been over a year, and since 2018 is here, and my resolution is to start finishing projects, here we are.
> 
> Thank you all for your support, kudos, comments, subscriptions, and patience. I sincerely doubt any of you are still around, reading, but if you are, thank you.
> 
> And here's to Castle, for being my favorite show for many years, and giving me my first OTP.

_ “ _ Fitz, whatever you do, stay in this car.”

 

Fitz opened his mouth to protest (there was no way in hell he was going to let her go in by herself, no way he was going to stand idly by while they arrested the woman who took his work and twisted them for her own selfish gain), but Jemma stopped him with a glare.

 

“I'm not bringing you back to Bobbi in a body bag, Fitz. You're my partner, it's my job to keep you safe.” Jemma told him, voice sharp but her gaze soft.

 

It made his stomach flip flop, and for a second, what ifs played in his head, as clearly as a scene from his novels: the two of them solving crimes together for the rest of their lives, best friends, maybe even something more, if they wanted…

 

“Be careful, Jemma.” He told her.

 

“I will,” Jemma promised, and to his great delight, she kissed him on the cheek. Warmth flooded through him at the physical contact, and then coldness swept over him when it disappeared, and he watched as Jemma Simmons disappeared inside Billie’s apartment building, closely followed by Mack and Lance.

 

He settled against the comfortable passenger seat, folded his arms, and waited.

 

_ “She’s always been a gambler, but for the past few years, it's only gotten worse….she could barely afford to eat, let alone keep her apartment. So she started skimming from the diner. Adam Cross caught her stealing one night, and he threatened to call the cops on her if he caught her again.” _

 

Jemma ascended the stairs with ease, pistol at the ready, Kyle’s confession still ringing in her ears. 

 

Apartment 47, that's where Billie lived. That's where this case would end, some form or the other. As soon as she, Hunter, and Mack broke through that door, justice would be served, and her and Fitz's fledging partnership would crumble into nothing...

 

_ “She knew Cross wouldn't let this go, so she had to make it go away. She told me he attacked her, that it was in self defense...that she made it look like a premeditated murder by setting it up like Fitz’s novel.” _

 

Jemma knocked hard against the door: “Billie Cabot, if you're in there, open up!”

 

There was a crash from inside the room, and Jemma kicked the door in just in time to see Billie climb out the window onto the fire escape.

 

_ “I just wanted to help her...I didn't know she...that she...oh god, what have I done?” _

 

_ “ _ Stay here, get evidence,” Jemma ordered as she bolted to the window, all but lunging out onto the rickety fire escape, just to find it empty.

 

Jemma scanned the alley below, leaning over the railing. Where the hell could she have gone?

 

“I've got her!” 

 

Jemma’s gaze snapped toward Fitz, who was dashing down the alleyway like a mad man, pointing behind a delivery truck.

 

“I've got her!” Fitz yelled again, managing to throw her a gleeful smile even as he ran.

 

“Fitz-- _ wait _ !”

 

He disappeared behind the van.

 

Jemma swore, and tore down the ladder and down into the alleyway below. 

 

As her feet hit the ground, there was a crashing noise that sounded like rubbish bins, and a shout of alarm.

 

Her heart shot up to her throat, anxiety clawing at her insides.  _ Fitz,  _ her mind shouted,  _ she has Fitz. _

 

Swallowing hard and pushing aside all her feelings,Jemma hunched slightly, keeping a firm grip on her pistol as she crept toward the blue delivery truck. Her heart slammed against her ribcage as she crept around the van.

 

She moved to adjust the side view mirror, in case Billie tried to sneak up behind her--

 

“Stay back!” Billie shouted, appearing from in front of the van. She had Fitz in front of her, his arm pinned against his back, using him as a human shield. She waved a gun at Jemma, eyes wide with the look of a caged animal.

 

“Drop the gun, Billie. Things don't have to escalate.” Jemma said, fixing her gaze on Fitz. His blue eyes were wide with fear, but he managed a small reassuring smile for her.

 

“No,” Billie spat, “I'm not giving up. I was so,  _ so _ close, all Kyle had to do was man up and confess--”

 

“To murders you committed?” Fitz broke in. “To murdering his best friends? I wonder, by the way, why you chose them? Was it just to make it look like Kyle was a psychopath, or was there more to it?”

 

“Shut up!”

 

“No, no, because I'm getting close to the story, aren't I? You killed Cross because he knew about your theft, sure, but Karen and Scott? No connection to the murder, besides being buddies with the fall guy. I think you were angry. There you were, drowning in debts, unable to get your gambling fix, while Kyle was off at parties with Karen and Scott, who were willing to help him whenever he asked. But they wouldn't help you, would they?”

 

“I asked him,” Billie spat, “Over and over again, but he wouldn't ask them for help. He told me that I got into this mess, that I could get myself out of it. But I knew the truth--they thought I was trash. They had an expensive ass apartment, while I was stuck skimming from a gritty diner.”

 

“So you decided to kill two birds with one stone,” Jemma said. “Kill your witness, exact revenge on Karen and Scott, and punish Kyle.”

 

“Yes, and I would’ve-”

 

“Please, spare me from the Scooby-Doo villain monologue,” Fitz groaned. “Shoot me before you do that.”

 

“Shut it or your girlfriend gets it,” Billie hissed.

 

“She's not my girlfriend,” Fitz protested. “We’ve only just met-”

 

“Fitz, you are not helping!” Jemma hissed.

 

“Shut up and drop your gun, Detective, or Mr Fitz won’t be around for his next book signing.”

 

“'fraid I can't miss that,” Fitz said, and stamped his foot hard down onto Billie’s. Her grip loosened on him, and he tugged out of her grasp. He grabbed her arm with the gun, and they wrestled for it--

 

Billie shoved Fitz against a wall, and pointed the gun at him.

 

Jemma’s finger wrapped around the trigger-

 

_ Wham! _

 

Billie dropped to the ground at the same time as Fitz dropped the trashcan lid.

 

Jemma stared at Fitz for a moment, then put her pistol back into her holster, and went to cuff Billie.

 

“I just did that,” Fitz whispered, in awe and surprise. 

 

Once the cuffs were on Billie, Jemma whirled on him. “What the bloody hell were you thinking? You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

 

“I was fine, the safety was on. Most importantly, we got our confession.”

 

Jemma shoved him lightly, and then lunged herself at him, wrapping her arms around him. “Either way, don't you ever do that again?”

 

“What apprehend a suspect?”

 

“No, do that, just don't risk your life while doing it, you idiot.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Slowly, Fitz wrapped his arms around her waist, and buried her face into her neck. Jemma squeezed her eyes shut, breathing him in: sweat, coffee, and parchment. 

 

Something deep inside her mind whispered that this was  _ right _ .

 

Blue and red lights danced across the alleyway as the sun began to set over Manhattan, signalling the end of the day, the case, and…

 

Fitz felt a pang deep inside his chest, gaze automatically flicking to Jemma, who was talking to a pair of officers. 

 

He wasn't ready to say goodbye to her, not yet. Despite having only known her a week, he couldn't imagine his life without her, and he didn't want to. 

 

She turned and began walking towards him, and Fitz fought to put a smile on his face. 

 

“Hey,” they both said at once. Jemma laughed, and turned her head down. His heart seized with a feeling he didn't want to name, not yet, and he began to reach out instinctively to push back some hair that fell in her face when Jemma looked back up. Instead, he let his arm drop to his side.

 

“I guess this is it,” Fitz said weakly, not sure what else to say. Jemma's smile slipped from her face, and she nodded.

 

“Case is closed,” she confirmed. “I guess you can get back to your life now, now that I'm not dragging you to crime scenes.”

 

“You didn't drag me anywhere I didn't want to go,” Fitz said, daring to take a step closer. “I'm glad I got to meet you, Jemma Simmons. You’ve been magnificent.”

 

Her cheeks blushed pink and she smiled again, and Fitz was almost overcome with the need to kiss her. It was like that night in his loft all over again, but he couldn't take the leap, not yet.

 

“You’ve been extraordinary, Leopold Fitz.” Jemma replied. She leaned forward and kissed him on the corner of his mouth, and pulled away smiling. “I hope I see you again.”

 

“I hope so, too.” Fitz said, feeling a nugget of hope blossoming in his chest. Jemma nodded again.

 

“Goodbye, Fitz.” 

 

“Bye,” he repeated, his tongue feeling like lead, and then she was walking back toward the squad cars, the alley walls closing in on her.

 

Fitz was half sure he was in love.

 

He was absolutely sure he had a muse.

 

And maybe if May and Coulson would let him, and if Jemma wanted it, maybe this was the start of many, many more adventures…

 

And maybe something else, Fitz thought, reaching up to touch the corner of his mouth.

 

Definitely something else, he thought, leaving the alley to hail a cab. For now, he needed to get home…

 

He had a story to tell.


End file.
